


Pretty Boy

by iWantSushi



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Sexism, also im writing this on only one brain cell so please be patient, also youngjae is very feminine in this fic so if you dont like that close your eyes, overexcessive use of the word pretty, some references to religion but not that much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2020-06-03 18:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iWantSushi/pseuds/iWantSushi
Summary: After his best friend leaves him to live with his girlfriend, Daehyun is faced with the trouble of finding a new roommate for the upcoming semester. Luckily, a certain Yoo Youngjae takes his offer. Unluckily for Daehyun, however, no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to keep this pretty boy with his pink nails and gentle eyes off his troubled mind.





	1. pink

Sundays mornings are odd.

Everyone is busy, yet no one is busy at all. The streets are both empty but never empty enough. There is traffic outside, but it doesn’t come from a car accident or a roadblock or an ambulance blaring down the road. Instead, cars pack into the lots of local churches, gleaming bright and white under the morning sun, stain glass painting marbled floors with pools of gold, ruby, and sapphire. Some stores are closed, but the florist shop just across the street opens about an hour later than usual, and the homeless man who normally sits right outside the corner café is nowhere to be seen. The piece of cardboard he normally occupies remains untouched in its alleyway, and a small child drops a coin that titters down the sidewalk for seconds before slipping between some rusting grates.

The air is different on Sunday mornings, more intimate than the average weekday. The corner café harbors the same air, the same busy quietness that gives Sunday mornings their enigmatic charm. No one knows each other, not even by name, yet they share this same small space together, breathe in the same scent of coffee, partake in the same cloud of idle chatter.

When the barista smiles at strangers, she’s a bit more sincere than she is on a Monday. In the corner by the windows, a single, troubled mother of three finally calls her own parents, because she promised she would last Tuesday, and Sunday mornings provide her with the only sliver of free time she has for herself. A man’s palms begin to sweat as he waits for his order, his pocket heavy with the weight of a tiny velvet box. He plans to propose this evening, but for now, as he waits for his girlfriend of six years to show up, he will whisper to himself words of encouragement, and he will act as if it’s just another Sunday morning when she asks him what they will do today.

Like them, Daehyun shares in the busy quietness of the café. He sits at a circular table for two, alone, his coffee barely warm and his laptop running at only 42%. There’s something odd about him – he’s nervous, and it isn’t hard to see. A couple of young girls sitting in a booth not too far away quietly admire his pleasant looks, giggling to themselves because they somehow find the way his eyebrows scrunch together charming and his slightly restless fidgeting endearing, but even through their little smiles they can see the hesitance in his eyes, hear the timorous taps of his fingers against his keyboard.

He hits the backspace key about twelve times before he dares to check the time.

_10:13 AM._

Daehyun lets out a deep breath and reaches for his cup, fingers just barely grazing the ceramic handle before his phone buzzes on the table, abrupt enough to shake his coffee for a fraction of a second. The screen lights up with a new message, and Daehyun blinks as he reads the little preview displayed before him.

_hey, sorry im running late!!_

Daehyun swallows, and his phone buzzes again.

_i overslept a little haha_

His fingers slip from the cup handle and move to pick up his phone.

_but im on my way over now!! sorry again!!_

The girls in the corner giggle quietly to themselves as Daehyun runs a hand through his hair, gaze weary as he reads the little messages over again. Steam disperses and disappears completely from the surface of his coffee. It’s cold now, and Daehyun only then begins to realize just how nervous he truly feels.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s switching majors this semester. Maybe it’s the scarce fifteen minutes he’s been given to run from his lecture to his lab on the other side of campus every Thursday. Or maybe it’s the recent drift between his brother and his father, or the police car that sits just outside the café, or the chance of rain forecasted to fall at about 64%.

Or maybe, it’s this.

_give me maybe 10 more minutes?_

Daehyun’s eyes drift towards the name at the top of the screen.

_Yoo Youngjae._

The little bell above the entrance of the café chimes as the door opens. Daehyun glances over his shoulder, more out of habit than anything else, watching passively as a woman who can’t be a day over 30 strides in. Her blazer fits nicely on her shoulders and her shoes are shiny and new, but there’s a slight tear in her stockings and a single strand of hair falls loosely from her otherwise tight ponytail. They make eye contact and she smiles politely, Daehyun barely managing a smile of his own before he turns back around, unlocking his phone and tapping on Youngjae’s many messages.

_It’s fine,_ he types, and Daehyun briefly skims over Youngjae’s name for the second time before hitting send. He lets out a low exhale, staring blankly down at his screen for a few more moments as his heart thumps deeply in his chest.

There are far too many uncertainties. The certainties Daehyun has been granted with are not amazingly reassuring either. He does not know who Yoo Youngjae is – not really, at least. But through his messages with Youngjae over the past couple of weeks, Daehyun has managed to gather this:

  1. _Yoo Youngjae is not a morning person._ As evidenced by the fact that he is going to be nearly thirty minutes late to their first meeting, Daehyun can soundly conclude that Youngjae is not the type to get up early on a day-to-day basis. Also, he normally never receives answers from Youngjae until _after_ 12 PM, so Daehyun can safely guess that Youngjae isn’t one to have breakfast, only brunch and a late dinner.
  2. _Yoo Youngjae tends to stay up really late._ Sometimes Daehyun will wake up with messages from Youngjae, leftover from the previous night’s conversation. They tend to be time-stamped at around 3 in the morning. Daehyun isn’t quite sure what exactly Youngjae is doing so late at night, but it does explain why he neglects to wake up at any hour before noon.
  3. _He’s majoring in math,_ which is something Daehyun has never known anyone to do. Youngjae also assures Daehyun that he has no idea what he wants to do with that major. Often times, when he mentions it, Youngjae includes a small > _:(_
  4. _He enjoys sweets._ At one point, Youngjae had sent him a very long block of text detailing various candy brands and his very extensive opinions on each one. He had then asked Daehyun what his favorite candy was but appeared to be sorely disappointed when Daehyun answered with a simple _I don’t have one._
  5. _He’s…very friendly._ Not that it’s a bad thing, but he finds Youngjae agreeing with him more often than not. Over strange things, too. Anything from superior cereal brands to different ways of combating climate change. He wonders if Youngjae is just trying to make a good impression or if he truly does believe Daehyun’s favorite obscure band will one day get back together.



It’s odd. _Talking to a stranger._ Playing something akin to twenty questions nearly every night and gathering all these extraneous facts. He learns a lot about Youngjae while at the same time learning nothing at all.

_Living with a stranger_ is even odder, but that’s what Daehyun will have to do if he wants to survive this upcoming semester. So Daehyun will be meeting with him – that _stranger_ who is not a morning person, his _new roommate_ who majors in math, _Yoo Youngjae,_ who is addicted to sweets and staying up for hours after midnight – in person for the very first time this Sunday morning.

Oh, he’s pretty nervous, alright.

Their conversations so far have been pleasant, but they feel scripted at times. Perhaps it’s because Daehyun has yet to match a face to the name and a voice to the texts, but deep down Daehyun dreads that their relationship may be more mechanical than natural. He doesn’t expect to become best friends with his soon-to-be roommate – no, Daehyun is more realistic than that – but he does hope to at least feel _comfortable_ around him.

He hopes this isn’t just wishful thinking. 

Daehyun’s phone buzzes once more, and he watches blankly as messages topple onto his screen.

_i think i might be lost_

_wait nvm_

_wait actually yeah_

_whats the place called again???_

_Okay,_ Daehyun thinks, _6) Yoo Youngjae is bad with directions._

He quickly texts Youngjae the café’s address once more, reaching for his coffee and taking a quick sip. Daehyun isn’t exactly surprised to find his drink cold, but it disappoints him nonetheless.

The clock on his laptop reads _10:27 AM,_ and Daehyun lets out a soft sigh to himself, dreading this meeting yet knowing that he has no other choice. Even if Yoo Youngjae turns out to be the worst person on the planet, Daehyun is painfully aware of the fact that he won’t be able to find another candidate in time for the housing deadline. He resigns, knowing that he’ll have to suck in his nerves and deal with the consequences when they finally come. So instead of wallowing in his anxiety, Daehyun pulls his laptop closer, deciding to continue on the paper he had already been working on this Sunday morning.

The cash register in the background rings as it springs open. A man allows the barista to keep the change out of gratitude. It’s a simple gesture, a simple phrase. But it speaks volumes, nonetheless.

The bell above the café entrance chimes again, and Daehyun habitually glances over. He doesn’t expect much, perhaps another old businessman or a young couple looking for an easy breakfast, but his fingers freeze over his keyboard, thumb pressed firmly against the spacebar as his cursor shoots across the page. 

Outside, the sun stands clear and unobstructed. Its light is white and flourishing, filled with the same quiet freedom of sheer curtains dancing with the breeze. Inside, the café door shuts, and there stands a boy with features brighter than the clouds in the sky, his sweater knitted and pink, his jeans fitted and ripped. Ribbons cross along his sleeves, white and silky as they reach just past his fingertips, and his shoes are a calming cream, pristine and spotless save for the little pink heart charm that clings to their laces. Hanging from his arm is a white shoulder bag just big enough to fit a phone and maybe a wallet, and between his pink lips is the stick of a lollipop. He pulls the sweet out and lets out a sigh of relief.

The candy is shaped like a star.

_Pink,_ too.

Their eyes meet, and Daehyun finally has a face for the name.

_Yoo Youngjae._

_7) He likes the color pink._

Daehyun doesn’t move when the boy in silk ribbons gives him a small smile and a wave, lollipop returning to its place between his lips as he approaches Daehyun’s table. There’s an easy air to him, something refreshing in the way he walks. His posture isn’t slumped nor is it stiff. It’s natural, it’s relaxed, and it’s another word that Daehyun can’t quite find, but whatever it is, it’s a word that keeps Daehyun from looking away.

( _Captivating,_ he thinks at first. But later on that night, Daehyun realizes it’s a simpler word.

_Pretty._ )

Youngjae stops once he’s near, and Daehyun’s breath hitches in his throat. Up close, the sight of Youngjae’s eyes has Daehyun’s heart curiously racing. Deep down, Daehyun understands it’s because this boy is absolutely _stunning._

(His thumb has yet to move off the space bar. Daehyun’s document is now filled with blank pages.)

“Hi, Daehyun,” Youngjae greets him, eyes curling into little crescents that twinkle with hints of mischievousness, playfulness, a little bit of shyness, “I’m Yoo Youngjae.”

His voice is gentle, and it takes Daehyun a moment to find his own again, “Uh,” and another moment to realize that Youngjae has a hand out for him to shake, “Y-yeah, hi.” Daehyun swallows as he takes Youngjae’s hand. It’s softer and smaller than his own. There’s a pause, and it takes yet another moment for Daehyun to realize that Youngjae somehow managed to pick him out of the crowd despite never having seen his face before. “How’d you know it was me?” 

Youngjae simpers. “Well, the jacket you’re wearing kind of gives you away. You’re a swimmer?”

Daehyun blinks, belatedly processing Youngjae’s words as the boy in pink takes the empty seat across from him. He glances down at his outfit, recognizing it as his old high school swim team’s jacket, brazened with his full name across his back. For some reason, Daehyun finds it in himself to be embarrassed by the thing.

“Oh…yeah…” Daehyun answers lamely, peering up at Youngjae and finding himself a little caught off guard by his soft and attentive stare, “…I was on my high school’s swim team for a couple years. Just as a thing to do after school.” He leans back, attempting to appear as casual as possible, because in all honesty he isn’t really sure why he feels so embarrassed.

_“Just as a thing,”_ Youngjae repeats in amusement before biting into his lollipop with a satisfying _crunch_ , tossing the now bare stick into a nearby trashcan. Daehyun blinks in bewilderment. “Anyways, sorry I’m late. I slept through my alarms and then missed the bus to get over here. I promise I’m not normally this…disorganized…? But I’m here now, so…” He taps his nails against the tabletop, and Daehyun’s eyes are immediately drawn to them. _Baby pink with specks of glitter._ “Let’s get started, shall we?”

_Pretty._ Daehyun blinks. “What?”

“Let’s get started?” Youngjae says again, a bit slower this time, as if only then noticing Daehyun’s slightly odd behavior. Their eyes meet once more, and Daehyun would have flinched if he wasn’t already so entranced. “…Are you alright?” Youngjae asks him next, but Daehyun is quiet.

Outside, a light breeze brushes by, pulling tiny leaves down its whimsical path as a toddling toddler teeters after them. Inside, Daehyun finds himself breathless as he stares into Youngjae’s eyes.

The bell suddenly chimes above the door and Youngjae looks back at the café entrance. The loss of eye contact pulls Daehyun back down to earth, and the dazed student blinks dumbly to himself before glancing at his cold and forgotten coffee. “Yes,” Daehyun blurts out, picking his cup up and downing another sip as Youngjae turns towards him again. “Just haven’t…had my fix yet, you know?” He forces out a small laugh to which Youngjae smiles at.

“You can take your time with your drink, then,” Youngjae reassures him, gesturing towards his cup, and Daehyun finds his eyes following Youngjae’s hands as he speaks, “I’m never really awake unless I’ve had a good shot of espresso, so I already had a bit myself on my rush over here just to make sure I didn’t pass out on the sidewalk. A bit dramatic, but caffeine really is the only thing keeping me up so early in the morning.” Youngjae pauses. “Well, at 10 in the morning. I guess that isn’t very early, actually…”

“Uh…yeah, same,” Daehyun murmurs distractedly, stare still trailing after Youngjae’s gentle mannerisms, and it’s only when Youngjae brushes his bangs to the side in a sheepish manner that Daehyun realizes how creepy he must seem. He clears his throat in an attempt to clear the air. “So, uh, how was your morning?” Youngjae looks at him, and Daehyun avoids his eyes by forcing another sip from his cup.

“Ah…well…I overslept and missed the bus…?” Youngjae answers again, seemingly confused, and Daehyun curses beneath his breath.

“Right, sorry.” Daehyun scratches the back of his neck, gaze drifting from one part of the café to the next in search of some sort of inspiration. “How was your…week?”

( _God,_ Daehyun swears he normally isn’t this awkward.)

Youngjae lets out a thoughtful hum, pouting a little, and it is only then that Daehyun notices the sheen of gloss on Youngjae’s lips. When he looks up, he can see the hints of rose blended along his rounded eyes. “It was alright, I guess. I didn’t really do much…Though I did have to babysit a couple of my younger cousins…” His gaze suddenly brightens up, and he shuffles through his bag. “Actually, I did make this when I was with them.” He pulls a small object out of his bag and holds it out for Daehyun to see. “Isn’t it cute?” 

Daehyun stares down at the object in Youngjae’s hand before carefully picking it up. It’s a small clay charm of what appeared to be a bunny. “A…bunny?” Its doe eyes peer back at him quietly.

Youngjae nods his head, and Daehyun finds Youngjae’s proud smile more endearing than it should be. “Recently my cousins have been interested in clay stuff. It’s kind of fun, so I’m thinking of picking it up some day, too.”

Daehyun can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips. “Charming,” he says as he rolls the little bunny charm between his fingers, and Youngjae lets out a little laugh. “Have any other ones?”

“Hmm…not that I have with me,” Youngjae answers. “I’ll be sure to bring along more when we move in together, though.”

Daehyun pauses, his heart skipping a beat in his chest with Youngjae’s words. It only hits him then that _this_ is the person he will be living with this semester. His gaze falls onto the silk ribbons along Youngjae’s sleeves, trailing down to his shimmering nails which idly played with the edge of his pink collar. 

There is something very enrapturing about Youngjae. He’s a vibrant burst of color in an otherwise dull café, and every little thing he does is oddly beautiful in Daehyun’s eyes. Daehyun has never met anyone whose first impression felt so _out of place_ yet so _at home_ at the same time. Youngjae is unorthodox, he doesn’t belong, but he’s authentic, _natural,_ and Daehyun is barely able to hold Youngjae’s soft eyes for a second longer before his gaze drops to the bunny in his palm, warmth coloring his cheeks because truly, _the boy in pink is breathtaking._

_All this, and he’s still a stranger._

“So, got any other little quirks I should know about?” Daehyun asks him carefully, and when Youngjae only stares back at him, he adds, “Since we’ll be living with each other and all that.”

“Oh, right.” Youngjae bites his lip, and Daehyun swallows. “I stay up a little late sometimes. And my alarm clock can be a little loud and annoying. Uh…I’d like to have a friend over from time to time, too, if that’s alright with you.”

“A friend?” Daehyun repeats.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says. “My, um, my best friend. If you don’t mind. He’s pretty quiet, so it’ll feel like he isn’t even there.”

“Not at all,” Daehyun reassures him with a small smile before pausing, confusion in his eyes. “Wait, best friend?” Youngjae only nods. “Is there a reason why you aren’t rooming with him, then? If you don’t mind me asking,” Daehyun quickly adds, suddenly feeling intrusive.

“Ah, well, he doesn’t go to school,” Youngjae explains. “He dropped out last year to do art…things…” For some reason, the confusion in Youngjae’s expression at his own answer amuses Daehyun.

“That’s…something.” Daehyun lets out a low chuckle. “I used to room with my best friend, too. That is until his girlfriend asked him to move in with her out of nowhere.”

“Oh, I didn’t room with—” Youngjae stops himself midsentence before shaking his head. “Yeah, um, it kind of sucks when you get left behind like that.”

Daehyun stares at Youngjae for a moment, quietly wondering what made him retract his words. “Looks like we both fell in the same boat.” Youngjae doesn’t say anything, looking almost absorbed in his own thoughts as silence fills their table.

There’s something missing here, Daehyun _knows_ that Youngjae isn’t telling him something. But he doesn’t pry. He feels as if it isn’t his place to.

“Anyways,” Daehyun decides to change the subject, and he doesn’t miss the strain in Youngjae’s gaze, “I don’t really mind the _staying up late_ thing or the alarm clock. I was mostly concerned about any, uh, habits, I guess. Like sleep walking or talking or chronic _I-like-to-play-music-past-midnight-just-to-annoy-Daehyun_ syndrome.”

Youngjae raises an eyebrow. “Is this from experience?”

“Maybe,” Daehyun answers with a slight smile. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad, but I’d rather not have to sit through another semester of listening to 90s pop music through the walls.”

Youngjae lets out a little laugh. “You won’t have to worry about me, then. It’s the quiet after midnight that I like.”

“In that case, I think we’ll get along just fine,” Daehyun says, chuckling a bit to lighten up the mood, and Youngjae gives him a wry smile in return. Silence abruptly follows, and it feels as if both of them want to say something, but neither of them know where to begin. Conflict rests in Youngjae’s irises, but again, Daehyun does not want to pry. In fact, a part of him doesn’t even want to hear it, because once he does, whatever it is that Youngjae hesitates to say will become a reality they both have to deal with.

And Daehyun isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what Youngjae is too afraid to say.

(Or rather, what Daehyun is too afraid to hear.)

“Anyways, thanks for taking my offer so quickly,” Daehyun blurts out, and Youngjae looks up at him in surprise. “I must have sounded embarrassingly desperate, but it was pretty late into the process so a part of me didn’t think I’d find anyone in time. You really saved my ass from going completely bankrupt this semester.” 

“Oh, gosh, it’s nothing,” Youngjae quickly reassures him, warmth on his cheeks as he shakes his head and hands in denial. “I was pretty desperate, too. I mean, the guy I was supposed to room with just dropped me at the last minute, so I wasn’t even if sure if I would have a place to stay.” Youngjae gives him an almost embarrassed smile. “I should be thanking you, really.”

Daehyun frowns.

_The guy I was supposed to room with just dropped me at the last minute._

“Dropped you?” the words leave Daehyun’s lips before he can stop them, and Youngjae tenses, as if realizing his mistake. “Why did he drop you?”

By the counter, a girl drops her quarter as she shuffles through her purse. The customer behind her quickly bends to help her, flustered apologies escaping her lips as she thanks him for his help.

Youngjae looks away, hesitance in his eyes. “Personal reasons.”

_Don’t pry._ Daehyun presses his lips together. His heart begins to stir in his chest, that same anxiety he felt before Youngjae’s arrival returning to the pit of his stomach.

But Youngjae frowns, as if he wants to fight against his hesitance. As if he wants to tell the truth. “We got paired up randomly and everything was pretty fine until we met for the first time,” Youngjae explains without prompting, and Daehyun’s dread grows.

He doesn’t want to hear this.

“He said he couldn’t live with someone like me…” Youngjae softly continues, but his words linger like a drop of water clinging to a leaf, weighing, weighing, _weighing_ down until it finally drops.

Daehyun doesn’t want to hear this.

“You show up late to that meeting, too?” Daehyun tries to joke, hoping that Youngjae will take the hint, but the humor is quickly smothered by the discomfort in Youngjae’s expression.

The bell above the café entrance chimes again, but this time, neither look away.

“No…” Youngjae murmurs. In one breath, he meets Daehyun’s eyes, and Daehyun feels his heart drop. “He didn’t want to live with a gay guy.”

Daehyun glances down at his laptop screen. The page before him is blank.

“Oh.”

_Oh._ It’s all he can say. Such a small and meaningless word, but in that moment, it’s hard to swallow.

Youngjae looks internally torn as he bows his head in what appears to be shame. “ _I’m sorry._ I know I should have told you,” he sincerely apologizes, and Daehyun barely has any time to process his words before he continues, “Really, I was going to. But after what happened with the other guy, I got _scared_.” Youngjae bites his lip, and he looks angry with himself of all people, but Daehyun is silent. He cannot find his voice. “I was pressed for time and running out of options, but then I saw your offer, and I didn’t want you to reject me, so I…I just…” He lets out a shaky breath, and Youngjae looks so _helpless_ , so incredibly worn as he pleads for forgiveness for… _nothing._ Daehyun feels as if he has never seen so much guilt in eyes that held nothing but honesty. “I’m sorry. I’m _really_ sorry, Daehyun.” Youngjae ducks his head down, his nails digging into his sweater, just over his heart. “I understand if you don’t want to room with me anymore—”

“No,” Daehyun utters, and Youngjae stops. It’s silent, and Daehyun doesn’t think as he utters, “It’s fine.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, his heart begins to race.

Outside somewhere, at some _time,_ a choir sings a hymn of praise. Daehyun can feel his mother’s hand in his as she prays. 

Youngjae stares at him at him for a moment. Quiet. Careful. “It is?” _Hopeful._

“…Yeah,” Daehyun murmurs, and he is unable to look Youngjae in the eyes. “I get why you did it. It’s no big deal, really. I’m just…relieved that things worked out for the both of us in the end.” He reaches up and begins to hit the delete key on his laptop, watching as the cursor retracts back across blank page after blank page.

Youngjae’s eyes are apprehensive, but Daehyun isn’t looking at him. “Are you sure you’re okay with it?” Daehyun swallows as he listens. “With…me?”

Daehyun stops once there are no longer any spaces to delete. He hits the _save_ button, and he closes the document with a shaky sigh.

Inside, Daehyun’s heart won’t stop beating.

Deep down, he knows exactly why.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Youngjae blinks, lips parting in surprise at the sureness of Daehyun’s response. “Well…um…” Youngjae pauses, meeting Daehyun’s eyes for a fraction of a second before he bites his tongue, realizing then that Daehyun’s words were empty. He isn’t speaking to Youngjae. He’s speaking to himself.

They’re strangers, after all.

“I suppose you’re right,” Youngjae whispers. The gloss on his lips has faded.

Daehyun clears his throat a bit as he taps at his laptop, pulling up a web browser with a small exhale. He pushes for an exit. “Why don’t we get to the, uh, boring stuff now? We still need to submit some papers. Have you checked in with the school?”

Youngjae is quiet for a moment. “Yes, actually,” he finally answers. “I can send you some of my forms and we can send them in together.”

“Perfect,” Daehyun murmurs, and Youngjae gives him a thin smile.

The silence that follows is heavy. _We’re strangers,_ Daehyun reminds himself, but he pauses.

They can’t be strangers anymore. They have to live together now, so Daehyun has to face the reality of their situation. His heart continues to race, and he peers up at the boy in pink, lost. It is only then that he notices a thin necklace hanging from Youngjae’s neck, its charm hidden beneath his sweater. Daehyun briefly wonders what else Youngjae may be hiding.

“Oh,” Daehyun says, suddenly remembering the tiny clay bunny in his hand. “Here.”

Youngjae doesn’t make any move to take it. He doesn’t even look up. “Keep it,” he softly says, and for a second, he seems to contemplate something. He meets Daehyun’s eyes and this time, his smile is a little more sincere. “Consider it a _thank you.”_

Outside, traffic begins to brew and streets begin to fill. The homeless man returns to his dusty spot in the little alleyway. He wraps a small rosary around his wrist, its cross held firmly in his palm.

Sunday mornings are odd.

To some, it’s a beginning. To others, it’s the end.

-

The shower hits Daehyun’s back like rain, light but persistent. _Hot,_ yet he shivers.

He thinks of pink and dancing ribbons. A pretty smile and a gentle voice.

Daehyun closes his eyes and the steam swallows him whole.

Glittering nails and fluttering lashes. Hands small, delicate as they move with his words. His hair looked soft, just long enough to fall over his eyes, and Daehyun wishes he could have brushed the brown locks aside, to stare into those eyes, bright and kind, irises holding a beauty that has yet to scratch the surface.

Daehyun curses and whispers two broken little words to himself.

_I can’t._

Like a mantra. A prayer. A _plea._ A part of him breaks when he sees a sad smile, the gloss faded, the light in honest eyes lost. The image shatters completely when Daehyun twists the faucet to the left, the shower squeaking to a stop. Silence fills the bathroom, and Daehyun releases a deep breath.

_Youngjae._ Even his name seems to take his breath away.

Daehyun bites his tongue and utters those two little words again.

He dries and dresses, a towel draped over his head as he exits the bathroom without another word.

There’s chatter coming from the living room. His parents have guests over, typical of their family’s Sunday evenings. Daehyun doesn’t bother to look, heading straight into his room and pulling the door shut behind him. He locks the door and lets out a soft sigh.

For some reason, his room feels foreign. Something about the walls he once grew up in suddenly feels strange, and Daehyun himself feels so incredibly out of place. It’s almost as if he doesn’t belong here in his own room. Like he doesn’t belong in his own home.

Daehyun sits on the edge of his bed, drying his hair with his towel as he tries his best to smother his troubling thoughts. His eyes drift towards his nightstand, gaze settling on the small picture by the lamp. The boy in the frame looks happy, missing teeth and all, like the winds of the world have yet to touch him, like the beat of his heart only rushed for childish danger and excitement, not from visceral pain and pulsating fear. Daehyun wonders how many years have gone by since he smiled for that now unfamiliar picture.

His phone rings in the corner. Daehyun glances back, watching as the device vibrates against his bed sheets before reaching for it. He drapes his towel over his shoulders and answers the call.

“Hey,” he utters, gaze falling to the carpet beneath him, “Yongguk.”

_“Wow,”_ Yongguk says, _“You sound tired as shit.”_

“Probably because I am,” Daehyun murmurs, but a thin smile of amusement lifts his lips. Somehow through his exhaustion he can still find it in himself to humor his best friend. “It’s been a long day.”

_“Oh, yeah, weren’t you supposed to meet with your new roommate today?”_

Daehyun swallows, glancing back up at the picture frame on his nightstand. “Yeah. And I did.”

_“Really? So how did it go?”_

“…It went alright,” Daehyun answers as he tries to forget how strained the remainder of their meeting had felt. When they finished submitting the rest of their forms, Youngjae had asked Daehyun if he wanted to meet up again for lunch before the move in. Daehyun had been surprised by the offer, believing that Youngjae felt just as suffocated as he had, but for some reason Youngjae seemed… _okay._ Daehyun had declined anyways, but he isn’t sure _why_ he said no. Perhaps it was nervousness. Perhaps it was something else. “He seems like a nice guy.”

_“Well everyone seems like a nice guy when you first meet them,”_ Yongguk scoffs, and Daehyun can hear Yongguk’s not-so subtle chewing and the vague clang of silverware over the phone. _“What else is he like?”_

“Uh…well…” Daehyun sees that soft smile and twinkling eyes once more, silk ribbons that flourish with every little gesture. “He’s pretty friendly. A little clumsy and absentminded but…otherwise he means well.”

_“Oh, he’s not the partying type, is he? Hyorin’s old roommate used to come home drunk nearly every weekend. So damn annoying.”_

“Actually, I’m not sure,” Daehyun admits, but he becomes uneasy. The longer he thinks about Youngjae, the more his heart begins to stir. “Hey, uh, how’s Hyorin?” he decides to ask, hoping Yongguk will take the hint.

_“She’s great!”_ Yongguk immediately answers, and Daehyun has to bite back a breath of relief. _“We’re going furniture shopping this week and the thought both terrifies me and excites me.”_

Daehyun lets out a low chuckle. “Going to immerse yourself in the showrooms?”

_“Who doesn’t?”_

“Nerd.”

_“Prick,”_ Yongguk retorts with a slight laugh. _“But seriously, man. I know you don’t want to hear it again, but I’m sorry about backing out of our apartment so last minute.”_

“Yongguk, I already told you that you don’t need to apologize. I get it.”

_“No matter how many times you say that, I’m still going to feel guilty every time,”_ Yongguk tells him, and Daehyun lets out a sigh. _“I really didn’t mean to put you in such a tight spot, and now you have to live with some guy you don’t really know. This dude could be the absolute scum of the earth and you wouldn’t know until it’s too late. What’s his name anyways?”_

Daehyun swallows. “Youngjae,” he answers, and he closes his eyes. “I don’t…think he’ll be that bad. There’s just some… _things_ about him that I’ll have to get used to.”

_“Things?”_

“Things,” Daehyun repeats, and he tries his best not to think about the mesmerizing way in which Youngjae speaks and moves, or of the little bunny, the charm now hanging from his car keys on the nightstand. “But hey, you must be pretty excited to finally be living with Hyorin,” Daehyun diverts the subject again, and his hand clutches the fabric of his sweatpants.

_“Yeah, man. I wanted this to happen, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon, you know? And the fact that her parents were the ones who pushed for this? I guess they liked me despite the way I totally fucked up their family dinner, spilling water all over her father…”_

Daehyun simpers. “Happens to the best of us.” 

Yongguk lets out a snort. _“Sure it does.”_ There’s a short pause, and Daehyun shifts to lie back against his bed, the back of his head sinking into his pillows as he gazes idly at his ceiling. _“So how are things on your end?”_

Daehyun lets out a hum of question.

_“With Nahyun?”_

Daehyun’s heart pounds.

When he gazes back at his nightstand, the picture of himself stares back at him blankly. “We’re alright,” he utters, unable to take his eyes off the smiling child. Daehyun finds himself dreading the rest of this conversation.

_“Just alright?”_ Yongguk asks. _“That’s not the tone of a guy who’s just alright.”_

Daehyun rolls his eyes. “There isn’t much to say. We went out a couple nights ago and her parents are inviting me over for dinner again…”

_“Well…that’s good.”_

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Daehyun murmurs.

_“Why do you sound so…not good, though?”_ Yongguk continues to pry, and Daehyun lets out a low sigh. _“I’m serious, dude. Is it the roommate…Nahyun…something else?”_

Daehyun isn’t quite sure himself. “It’s just a number of things, I guess,” he murmurs. “I’m worried about this semester. I’m worried about my new major, the new apartment, my new roommate…It just feels like everything is changing all at once while I’m just caught in the middle like a damn idiot.”

_“You’re going to be fine—”_

“And I’m not even sure how my parents are going to feel about my new roommate – or, uh, Youngjae.”

_“What do you mean—”_

“He came in wearing a pink fucking sweater and some shiny lip gloss. Not to mention he was about thirty minutes late.”

_“Wait, what?”_

“He’s _gay,_ Yongguk,” and the words are leaving Daehyun’s lips before he can stop them, “He’s gay and that’s why he ended up as my roommate, because the guy he was supposed to room with was a complete homophobe, and my mom and dad and their Bible study group are in the fucking living room singing psalms and preaching the word of the lord. Also, my parents asked me about Youngjae earlier and when they’d be able to meet him, and I said _I don’t know, let me ask him,_ even though I really _don’t_ want to ask him because I already know what my parents are going to say as soon as they get _one look_ at him. Not to mention the fact that my brother got some girl pregnant so my dad is basically exiling him because he’s _only in high school._ And to top it all off, Nahyun told me she loves me last week.” Daehyun lets out a sharp breath. _“God,_ Yongguk. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

There’s silence on the other end for a few seconds, and Daehyun can hear his own harsh breathing grating against the speaker.

_“Oh.”_

“Oh,” Daehyun repeats. His blood feels as if it’s boiling.

_“What did you say?”_

“What did I say to who?”

_“To Nahyun.”_

Daehyun pauses. “Nothing.”

_“Not even a thank you?”_

“Fuck you, dude,” Daehyun utters, rubbing a palm over his face when Yongguk only laughs. “It freaked me out, and I didn’t know what to say. And out of all the damn things I told you, _that’s_ the one you decide to pick on?”

_“That’s because there’s so much to unpack with everything else that I decided to attack the easiest one,”_ Yongguk says, and Daehyun stiffly swallows. _“Just go with your gut when it comes to relationships. If you love her, you say it back. If you don’t…well, I guess you don’t.”_

Daehyun bites his lip. “You make it sound so easy.” Those two little words haunt his mind.

_I can’t._

_“It is easy, but it isn’t at the same time. Some people make it easier than others.”_ Yongguk pauses. _“Nahyun’s a nice girl anyways. I don’t think she’ll hold it against you if you tell her you aren’t sure about this yet.”_

Daehyun lets out a soft sigh. “…Yeah.” His shoulders begin to feel extremely heavy.

_“As for everything else…uh…Youngjae knows you have a girlfriend, right?”_

Daehyun swallows thickly. It feels as if this ride has no end. “…I don’t think he does.”

_“Oh, then…uh…you should let him know that then. Just in case…you know…”_

His heart dips with dread. “I don’t think he—”

_“You never know, man. You don’t know him, remember?”_

“I…” Daehyun shifts in discomfort. “I guess you’re right.”

_“Be careful around him is all I’m saying. It’s probably what your parents would say, too.”_

Daehyun’s breaths are thin. “Yeah…” _I can’t do this anymore._ “Hey, listen, Yongguk. I have to go.”

_“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure thing.”_ There’s a short pause. _“Sorry you have to deal with so much stuff right now. But I know you’ll pull through. You always do.”_

“Thanks, Yongguk,” Daehyun utters, but his words are empty. His temples begin to throb and his eyes fall shut. “I’ll see you some other time.”

Yongguk is quiet for a moment. _“Yeah. See you.”_ And he hangs up, Daehyun not bothering to move as his phone slips from his grasp.

_You’ll pull through._

When he looks to the side, that boy in the picture continues to smile at him from the nightstand, but his smile feels so far away. Beside the frame sits his car keys. On his keys is a little charm in the shape of a bunny.

Daehyun’s heart begins to ache, and he wishes he could shout. He wishes he could scream. He wishes he could do so many things, but he knows he can’t. And he bitterly settles for that, breathing those two little words over and over and over again.

_I can’t._

_I can’t._

_I can’t._


	2. someone special

_You’re too quiet._

_Talk some more,_ so he did.

_You’re too skinny._

 _Eat some more,_ so he tried.

_You’re a boy, aren’t you?_

_Sit like one._

_Stand like one._

_Talk like one._

_Youngjae._

_You’re acting like a girl._

_Stop playing with those dolls._

_Stop playing with those lipsticks._

_And for god’s sake, stop_ crying.

_You’re going to be a man one day._

_So get up and act like one._

-

He’s late.

Which isn’t new, but Youngjae can’t help the embarrassment that colors his cheeks as he rushes towards the small café he was supposed to be at 30 minutes ago. Youngjae breathes out his apologies to the poor individuals he runs into as he stumbles through the streets, both hands clutching onto the strap of his shoulder bag as he tells himself over and over again, _you’re an idiot, you’re an idiot, you’re an idiot._

He set five different alarms last night in preparation for this morning. _Five,_ and Youngjae still managed to sleep through every single one of them. Really, it was at times like this that Youngjae hated himself the most.

A stop light blocks his way as cars begin to drive through an intersection. Youngjae lets out a sigh and shuffles through his bag for his phone, checking the time and smacking himself in the forehead as another punishment for his incompetence.

Youngjae knows the importance of first impressions. He knows more than anyone that the first impression alone can be enough to make or break any relationship, yet here he is, showing his future roommate that he’s too big of a _moron_ to wake up before ten in the morning. If he had the time, he’d kick himself.

 _Stressed,_ this is _stressful,_ so Youngjae pulls out a spare lollipop from the stash he keeps in his bag, wrapper falling into the trashcan by the stop as he plops the treat into his mouth. It’s cotton candy flavored, sweet enough to punch him awake this morning. Far from his favorite flavor, but it’ll have to do for today. The crosswalk signals his go-ahead, and Youngjae resumes his race towards the café.

It takes another minute before Youngjae finally spots the café up ahead. It’s small and kind of cute from what Youngjae remembers, but he’s only been there once or twice before. He settles into a more normal pace as he approaches the front, but Youngjae stops when he catches his own gaze through his reflection in the windows. He takes a quick moment to fix the wind-frayed tufts of his hair back into their proper places, feeling like an absolute mess when some strands refuse to stay down. A pout forms on his lips from the stubborn nature of his hair before his gaze falls to the outfit he wears, and for a moment, Youngjae hesitates.

_Is this too much?_

He’s wearing one of his favorite sweaters, a cute pink knit with ribbons down the sleeves that Youngjae often played with whenever he felt a little bored. The jeans he had on were whitewashed and a bit worn from time, some of the tears on his thighs definitely a little more dramatic than they were when Youngjae first bought them. Honestly, Youngjae hadn’t put _too_ much thought into what he wore today, simply throwing on an outfit he’s worn often enough in the past, but upon closer inspection, Youngjae begins to feel incredibly… _cheap._

Like someone pretending to be someone he isn’t.

_But this is who I am._

(Sometimes if you say something enough, you may just begin to believe it.)

Youngjae is aware of all the stares he receives as people pass by him, and it almost feels as if he’s one of them. Another passerby staring strangely at the boy in such feminine clothing.

_Who do they see?_ he wonders.

Youngjae presses his hand over his chest, and only then does he understand how fast his heart is racing.

But he’s late, and the reminder of just how late he is cuts Youngjae’s contemplation short. He’ll worry about this when he has the time to worry about it, but right now, he has someone he needs to meet.

_Jung Daehyun._

His lollipop dries his lips, but Youngjae mouths the name as to not forget.

The bell above the café entrance rings, and it barely takes a second for their eyes to finally meet. 

-

It’s an awful thing to admit, but Youngjae is rather used to being stared at.

Appearance is such a vital part of identity. One of the first things people notice about anyone is their appearance, and Youngjae knows he doesn’t look like the typical man. In fact, Youngjae’s always been told that with his bright eyes and apple cheeks, he looked far more like his mother than his late father.

_It’s like he’s your daughter,_ his relatives would often joke to his mother when he was younger. Back then, his feminine appearance was seen as something more endearing than anything else. Nobody thought much of this observation because he was still so _young,_ and most of his uncles and aunts believed that one day his features would sharpen, his build would widen, that he would grow and develop and become far more _masculine_ like every boy does when he matures.

But Youngjae wasn’t like _every boy_. Many of the boys his age were too rough for Youngjae’s comfort, always so loud and boisterous, spitting out whatever thoughts came to their minds without a single regard for the people around them. He tried, Youngjae really did try to laugh along with their jokes and pretend like he didn’t grimace every time they dragged him into their little games, but he could only handle so much.

At home, Youngjae found solace in his mother’s old doll collection. She let him play with them after noticing his general fascination with them, and eventually Youngjae began to ask his mother for new dresses for his dolls, another little castle he could play with, a little tiara for a princess and a pair of wings for a glittery fairy. He loved playing make-believe and pretending he was a princess who could sing the prettiest songs and sew the prettiest dresses, and it was in this little world he built for himself that Youngjae felt a happiness he didn’t realize was possible. A happiness he wished to share. 

So one day, Youngjae brought his favorite doll to school, hoping to maybe have his friends play house with him because sometimes it got boring playing alone. But Youngjae remembers that the instant he took the doll out of his bag, a boy had screamed, drawing all attention onto them before letting out an obnoxious laugh. 

The mischief in that boy’s eyes was enough to wipe the smile from Youngjae’s lips.

_Dolls are for girls!_

_Are you a girl, Youngjae?_

He remembers feeling cold, cold and _humiliated_ as the boys in his class – the boys Youngjae thought were his _friends_ – ripped his doll from his hands and tossed it to each other like it was another one of their stupid little games. All the boys already knew that Youngjae was _different_ from them. He never really liked the same things they did, and even as a kid, they all thought he was weird for looking, talking, _acting_ so _girly._ The doll was just the perfect mistake, and now there was no reason for the boys of Youngjae’s class to pretend like Youngjae was one of them any longer.

He was alone after that. Teased by the boys in class for being a little _princess,_ ignored by the girls because they didn’t really know what to make of him quite yet. 

Then puberty hit, and boys and girls became more and more different.

Youngjae became leaner, taller, voice a bit deeper like the other boys in his class. He still had his mother’s looks, but he outgrew his clothes and needed new ones, so Youngjae didn’t hesitate when he bought the same clothes he’d seen all the other boys wear. In them, he looked more like a boy than he ever could a girl, and Youngjae threw his dolls away in exchange for soccer balls and cleats, following after the same group of boys who laughed at him only years ago.

Eventually, the incident became nothing more than a bad memory.

Youngjae finally became the boy everyone told him he was supposed to be.

-

_He’s handsome,_ is the first thing Youngjae thinks as he sits in front of Jung Daehyun, _handsome_ like a boy Youngjae is sure the girls from his high school days would have fancied. But he isn’t anything special, or at least Youngjae doesn’t think he is. Nothing in particular about Daehyun sticks out except for the letters printed onto his back, and it hits Youngjae right then and there that Daehyun is just about as plain as they get.

_Plain._ Plain as in Daehyun didn’t stick out. Plain as in Daehyun didn’t stick out because he _already_ fits in. _Plain_ as in everything Youngjae isn’t.

Daehyun never has to feel the same stares Youngjae felt when he first walked into the café, in fact he was _part_ of those stares. He blends in while Youngjae so clearly _doesn’t_. Even now as Youngjae sits with Daehyun, Youngjae can feel people’s eyes drifting towards him in particular, judging him for the strange boy they see, judging him because Youngjae _does not look like Daehyun._

Daehyun, Youngjae realizes, is exactly the type of guy Youngjae tried to become when he was younger, and the thought alone causes the warmth in Youngjae’s smile to waver. 

-

Youngjae was a boy. He laughed louder. He played harder. He didn’t bother to wipe the sweat and dirt from his face because he wanted to be just like all the other boys.

But on some days, Youngjae couldn’t breathe. He would wake up with a terror in his chest that he could not describe. That fickle game he played pulled him in far too many directions, driving him to the point where he was too dizzy to understand where he was or, more importantly, _who_ he was.

Some boys found him funny, most girls found him obnoxious. Youngjae was hopeless, because even when he tried to blend in he simply drew in more attention.

_He’s too much._

_He’s just stupid._

_He thinks he’s funny, but he really isn’t._

_He just pretends to be all obnoxious so that people don’t see who he really is._

Youngjae couldn’t understand it. He was just like the other boys in class. He looked like them. He talked like them. He acted _just like them._

But still, he wasn’t _him._ And everyone could see it.

Youngjae was uncharacteristically quiet as he sat in the back of class one day. Nobody understood what had put him in such a mood, but he was left alone otherwise, most of his friends having left to buy their lunches while Youngjae remained, head resting silently against his desk.

Truthfully, Youngjae was tired. The pressure to be someone just for the sake of acceptance was beginning to wear him out. He remembers that day well, because it was the first time he really noticed the girls in his class.

They were _colorful_. Some curvy, some slim, smooth legs and shapely hips, curled lashes and nails of all shades. A group of girls sat in some desks not too far away from where Youngjae was, and he could hear their excitement as they spoke, voices vibrant and filled with so much _color_ as they raved about the latest fashion and beauty trends sweeping the country. 

Girls were different. More complicated, but also more _fluid._

Some girls liked growing their hair out, other girls liked keeping it short. Some girls wore pleated skirts and lip gloss, other girls wore sweatpants and messy buns. Some girls were quieter, some were louder, some were docile, and some were even rowdier than the boys. Girls were different, but still, they were all _girls._

Before he knew it, Youngjae was immersed. He loved the way girls looked. He loved the way girls dressed. To him, they looked so _free._ They dressed how they wanted, they talked how they wanted, they laughed and smiled and did everything they wanted. They were unashamed to be themselves.

Unashamed and so, _so_ pretty.

Nights after that were spent in front of the mirror. Youngjae did not like the boy he saw. The boy he saw with his baggy pants and sleepless eyes looked nothing but ashamed.

Ashamed and so, so _ugly._

-

Daehyun’s eyes are kind. They’re the type of eyes Youngjae cannot lie to.

_“Why did he drop you?”_

Daehyun’s eyes are also very, _very_ transparent. Youngjae can see that Daehyun is the type to let his emotions show, and the grimace in his expression tells Youngjae that Daehyun regrets even asking that question.

He doesn’t need to tell him the truth, Youngjae knows he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t even need to give Daehyun an answer at all, but Daehyun’s eyes are _far too kind_. They make Youngjae feel dangerously safe, so much so that the words leave his lips before he can even stop them.

“…We got paired up randomly and everything was pretty fine until we met for the first time.”

Youngjae remembers that guy, the one he was _supposed_ to room with. They emailed back and forth for a while until they agreed to meet up at a café much like the one he and Daehyun are in right now. He didn’t know much about him except that he was very independent and preferred to be left alone, so Youngjae had reassured him that he wouldn’t give him any problems.

But like Youngjae has learned many times growing up, just being _himself_ was a problem.

Youngjae swallows. “He said he couldn’t live with someone like me.”

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

“You show up late to that meeting, too?” Daehyun jokingly asks him, and there’s an awkward smile on his face, one that Youngjae isn’t able to return.

_You expect me to live with a fucking faggot?_

“No,” Youngjae answers, and he watches as Daehyun’s kind eyes waver. “He didn’t want to live with a gay guy.”

-

Youngjae hated the way he looked growing up. He hated the glimpses he’d see of himself through windows and mirrors. He hated having to take pictures, hated having to _see_ them and see himself in any shape or form. _Ugly, ugly,_ he always looked so awkward and _ugly._

His clothes never really fit him properly. They were baggier in areas where he was rather slim, his legs appearing almost twice the width they really were in the pants he forced himself to wear every day. They gave him a shape he didn’t like, something so blocky and lifeless in his movements as he inspected himself in the mirror. 

But he looked just like the other boys, and that was the thing.

_I’m a boy. I’m a boy. I’m a boy._

Youngjae would say it over and over again, because he knows it’s true, he is a boy and that will never change. But Youngjae _hated_ the boy he saw in the mirror. Youngjae _hated_ him because he _isn’t_ him.

_Why?_ he would wonder. _Why_ did he have to look like _this_ to be a boy?

Late into high school, Youngjae found himself hanging around the girls in his class far more often than the boys. He doesn’t know it happened, he’s sure the girls don’t know how it happened either, but he became almost honorary member of their usual group.

As they grew more comfortable with each other, many of the girls liked to point out Youngjae’s more feminine features. It was something Youngjae had tried to hide for so long, embarrassed to be compared in such a way, but something about the admiration in their voices made him feel almost… _proud._ It wasn’t long before the girls asked him if they could paint his nails, curl his lashes, dash his skin with glitter and makeup, all of it, _all of it_ because it was fun.

To _them_ , it was fun.

To Youngjae, it was a pull towards the part of himself he knew he was missing. What he lacked was the courage, but in those moments, as his girl friends giggled and decorated his eyes with shimmering shadows, Youngjae studied their tools, their faces, their techniques, and somewhere inside him he decided to follow that pull. 

_Quiet._ He was always quiet as he spent his nights locked in his room, the mirror his only company as he pulled out the tools he swept from his mother’s bag.

A bit of blush here, a bit of contour there. Youngjae remembered the way the girls blended their brushes into his skin, painted his lips, dashed his cheeks with sparkling highlighter. He remembered it all, his own hands moving as if they were theirs, enhancing the features of his face he once tried so desperately to hide. 

Youngjae would smile to himself, happy with the way he looked, but his happiness was limited to the privacy of his room. Youngjae was still too ashamed, afraid of being called anything but a _boy_ for playing with dolls, playing with _makeup_. He would show up to school every day with heavy eyes, raw from scrubbing away the traces of his guilty pleasure.

But it didn’t take much longer for the boys to notice Youngjae’s presence with the girls. Despite his best efforts, Youngjae lost his identity yet again.

_All he does is hang out with girls nowadays._

_He looks like one anyways._

_Wasn’t he the one who brought that doll to school when we were kids?_

_Yeah…I guess he always was kind of girly._

Their speculations became more and more ridiculous.

_Is he really a boy?_

_He just wants to be a girl._

_In a few years he’ll have tits and an ass._

_I bet he’s gay._

_Yeah, no shit._

_There’s no way someone like him isn’t._

_All this_ simply because Youngjae existed.

He learned just how cruel high school boys could be. The crude words scribbled into his desk became labels that followed him everywhere.

No matter how much he tried to hide, the world would always find him anyways.

_So why hide?_ he wondered.

-

_“I’m sorry,”_ Youngjae apologizes, his eyes closed as he confesses to a man he just met. “I know I should have told you – really, I was going to. But after what happened with the other guy, I got _scared.”_

Growing up, Youngjae had fought so hard to become someone he wasn’t. Youngjae wanted so _desperately_ to be anything but the things people called him, but really he was only hurting himself. He lived such transparent lies for so long that he saw no point of it any longer.

“I was pressed for time and running out of options, but then I saw your offer, and I didn’t want you to reject me, so I…I just…” 

Youngjae wants nothing more than to be _honest._ Honest to himself, honest to the world, honest to those kind eyes staring right at him - _Daehyun_. He wants to be honest with _Daehyun._

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae whispers, fingers clutched right over his heart. “I’m _really_ sorry, Daehyun.”

He still doesn’t understand it. Youngjae still doesn’t understand why everything that feels so right to him is so _wrong_ to everyone else. But he apologizes for it, he apologizes for it _all_ anyways, because that’s all he can really do anymore. Apologize for who he is, because no matter how hard he tries, _he can’t change._

It’s at moments like these where he feels his most vulnerable.

_I’m pathetic._ “I understand if you don’t want to room with me anymore—”

“No,” Daehyun utters, and Youngjae’s breath hitches in his throat. “It’s fine.” 

-

In the summer, Youngjae would sometimes accompany his girl friends on their trips to the mall. The girls loved to linger in boutiques, and Youngjae would normally float by with them, brushing his fingers through softer fabrics, playing with the idea of ribbons on his coat and blouses that fell past his shoulders.

It was only a daring thought, something that pressed against the back of his skull like a dull ache or an itch. He never dared to act on such whims. It was different, _too_ different for a boy like him. Youngjae was plain and ugly, and most importantly, a _boy_.

But one day, Youngjae lingered in the aisles longer than usual. Despite every nerve in his body telling him to look away, he couldn’t. A dress that had been displayed looked absolutely _gorgeous_ despite the subpar lighting of the store. It was silk, simple yet fell around the curve of the mannequin in a manner that looked so… _free_ …

And Youngjae wanted it.

Without a thought he had taken it for himself. Bought it and sealed it in a bag before any of his friends could even think about asking.

At home, Youngjae was quiet as he tried on the dress for the first time. His skin felt tender, exposed as he slipped into the silky fabric, hands slow and careful as he wrapped himself in a color he had never owned. It was a bit tighter than he expected, his body still that of a boy, but something about the fit made his lashes flutter in enchantment.

The clothes he normally wore were filled with graphic designs that didn’t make much sense and dark colors that did nothing but tire his eyes, but as Youngjae straightened out the delicate sleeves of his new dress and fixed the folds of the low collar into place, he found himself _mesmerized_ by the way the color _pink_ blended with his skin, soft and almost elegant. The sway of the skirt as he turned in the mirror made him feel as if he could fly, and for once he was enamored by the boy in his reflection.

_(Free. He was free.)_

The boy in the mirror had eyes that shone with something _different,_ something _new,_ and it only took one spare glance at the T-shirt and shorts he had abandoned in the corner of his room for Youngjae to realize that unlike that pitiful outfit, this dress didn’t make him feel lousy _, but pretty._

_Pretty._

It was a word boys liked to use to describe the girls in their class.

_Pretty._

But he liked it. Youngjae liked the way it rolled off his tongue, the way it tasted against his lips and tickled his skipping heart.

-

_“It’s fine.”_

Youngjae’s heart pounds. “It is?”

“Yeah. I get why you did it,” Daehyun tells him, his eyes focused on the laptop in front of him. “It’s no big deal, really. I’m just…relieved that things worked out for the both of us in the end.”

Daehyun’s expression is unreadable even to Youngjae, but the way Youngjae’s heart races compels him to hold onto his hopes anyways.

“Are you sure you’re okay with it?” Youngjae doesn’t want to lose everything. Not now. Not again. “With… _me?”_

Finally, Daehyun looks at him. His eyes are different this time. _Detached_ …but still kind. Still _honest._ Parts of Youngjae warn him not to believe anything this man in front of him says, but a greater part of him already does.

Because his eyes are so _kind;_ a kindness Youngjae could not lie to and a kindness Youngjae believed would not lie to him either.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

_Free._ To Youngjae, the words sounded so, so _free._

-

One night, Youngjae’s mother had caught him fumbling through her things in an almost desperate search for her sewing kit. She had asked him what was wrong, but Youngjae had been protective, _shamefully_ protective of this secret he’s held so close to his heart for so long.

Youngjae didn’t know how his mother would react, he didn’t know how _anyone_ would react if they found out that he was a boy who liked wearing dresses and lipstick more than he liked anything else. But he was still her son, and Youngjae found that he couldn’t lie to his own mother.

She was quiet as Youngjae held his dress against his chest. There was a tear on the side, right along the length of its waist, and Youngjae thought he might have been able to fix it. He didn’t know a thing about sewing, but he figured he could try, because what _else_ could he do? He didn’t want to lose the only thing that ever made him feel anything other than self-hatred.

Youngjae opened his mouth to explain himself, but he didn’t even know where to begin. He remembers that he had begun to cry, because his mother was being so quiet, and he didn’t know what she was thinking. Disgust, maybe? _Embarrassment?_ Youngjae knows this wasn’t normal, knows _he_ wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t like this was the first time his mother had been faced with critique over her only son, her only son who was so _unlike_ the other boys his age.

_You let him play with those dolls and now he’s turned into this._

_He’s like this because he doesn’t have a father figure._

_You raised him like a girl._

_What would your husband think if he saw him now?_

Youngjae knew this was his fault, and he wanted nothing more than to throw everything away and apologize to his mother for being such a _failure._

But she didn’t yell at him. She didn’t do anything but take the dress from his hands, a small smile on her lips as she found her sewing kit and guided Youngjae to the table. Her words were soft and patient as she taught Youngjae how to sew the torn seam back together, each little stitch reattaching the fragile pieces of Youngjae’s fluttering heart.

_If this makes you happy,_ his mother had whispered, _then don’t you ever run from it._

She took him shopping the next week, right to one of the boutiques his friends liked to browse in. Youngjae’s mother smiled as she helped Youngjae pick out outfit after outfit, earnest as she helped him find something that would fit his different build. _We can fix them,_ she had told him, and at home that was exactly what they did.

The rainbow of spools and chugs of the sewing machine became a place of catharsis for Youngjae’s anxieties. Over time, his measurements became engraved in his memory as he adjusted the shoulders of his new blouses, the hips of his new jeans, and anything and everything that didn’t fit suddenly did. And he loved it.

He loved it so much that he realized he no longer wanted to hide it. Hide _him._

Not from the world, not from his family, not from _himself._

 _It was terrifying,_ a terrifying decision to make, even _more_ terrifying when he walked into school in a blouse of pink lace for the very first time. They stared at him. They laughed at him. They called him everything they’d been calling him for as long as he could remember.

But unlike the past, Youngjae actually liked the boy he saw in the mirror.

He was _pretty,_ and he decided that he was there to stay.

-

“He sounds sweet,” is the first thing Youngjae’s mother says after he tells her about his meeting with Daehyun.

Youngjae rolls his eyes, finding his own gaze in the mirror in front of him as he begins to remove his earrings. “You said that about the last guy.”

“Yes, but…” She hesitates. “But he’s different.”

_Different._ His reaction was different, but did that mean Daehyun was? Youngjae had found comfort in Daehyun’s eyes, but a few simple words and a small smile were not enough for Youngjae to let his guard down.

He’s been down this road before. 

“He didn’t scream at me to _get out_ when I told him I was gay, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of them,” Youngjae utters. He looks into the mirror in front of him and notices that his mascara had smudged ever so slightly in the corner of his eyes. With a sigh, he grabs a wipe to wash it all away. “He might only tolerate me until he finds someone new to share rent with.”

“Don’t say that, baby,” his mother says, reaching over and gently brushing his hair back. “Give him a chance. You’ll be living with him for at least a semester, so you might as well make the best of it.”

Youngjae’s gaze falls to his lap. “I _am_ giving him a chance,” Youngjae tells her. “It’s just that…” _I don’t know him. I don’t know him, and it feels as if he knows everything about me._ “He’s still a stranger.”

Youngjae knows he’s being paranoid. It’s the aftertaste of a meeting that didn’t go as horribly as he anticipated. Daehyun seems neutral towards him which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but how long will that last? 

“Just give it time,” his mother tells him, smiling as Youngjae meets her eyes in the mirror. “He’s a stranger, but he’s still your roommate. He will become a part of your life just as much as you will become a part of his.” She lets her hand rest atop his shoulder, her warmth a small comfort from the pain in Youngjae’s chest. “And you never know,” she says, “he might be someone special.”

Youngjae retracts, glancing back at her in surprise. “Mom, what the—”

“You said he couldn’t stop staring at you—”

“M-Most people can’t!” Youngjae splutters, and for a moment he remembers the way Daehyun had looked at him when he first walked into the café. He held the same shock in his eyes that Youngjae has grown used to, but there something else in them, too. Something that caused Youngjae’s cheeks to warm at the mere memory of it. 

“Yes, but you said it made you feel—”

“Okay, _mom_ , I think it’s time for you get out of my room.”

She lets out a little laugh, Youngjae rubbing a hand over his face as he tries to rid himself of such a ridiculous suggestion. “Fine, but get some rest, okay? I have to go to work early tomorrow so if I wake up at 4 AM because you decided to sniff around the kitchen again, there will be blood.” She presses a soft kiss against his head before ruffling his hair. “Good night.” 

Youngjae rolls his eyes but concedes. “Good night,” he utters back, and as the door to his room closes, Youngjae is left with nothing but his reflection, quiet and incredibly alone.

_He might be someone special._

Youngjae can feel the heat on his face, and he attempts to smother it with a few light slaps to his cheeks.

Daehyun hadn’t mentioned anything about his own sexuality, but Youngjae had assumed he was straight. He… _looked like it_ for a lack of a better term, but who was Youngjae to judge by looks?

_Stop it,_ Youngjae reminds himself. _He’s just your roommate._

Youngjae glances back into the mirror, his bare face staring right back at him. Quiet. Observant. _Curious._

It’s a ridiculous thought, but still, Youngjae couldn’t help but wonder.

-

Youngjae has always found moving in to be a harrowing experience. He was clumsy and awkward as he tried to pull his things into the elevator, awful enough that a few employees had to come up and help him. Youngjae felt embarrassed as he took the stairs up to his new apartment, almost like a lost child despite the fact that he was now 20 years old. He didn’t want his mother to cancel her work today and therefore insisted that he’d be fine moving in by himself, but he’s only just now remembering how tiring the whole process is.

He and Daehyun had agreed that Daehyun would move in a day before Youngjae to make things easier for the both of them, so Youngjae knows that Daehyun should already be settled in the apartment. Youngjae practices greetings in his head as he retrieves his stuff from the elevator, timidly thanking the workers who had helped him before finding the place he was meant to live in for the next year or so.

This entire day has been an incomprehensible blur, so Youngjae really hasn’t had the time to process the fact that he was about to start living with a guy he’s only met once before, a guy who made him both uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. It doesn’t really hit Youngjae until he opens the door, and it’s such an abrupt realization that he nearly trips on his own two feet as he enters the apartment for the first time.

_Daehyun,_ he thinks, and he looks up, expecting to see the man who’s been stuck on his mind for the past couple of weeks staring right back at him. But instead, Youngjae is greeted with an empty apartment, the two empty coffee mugs sitting on the kitchen counter the only sign of life.

_Two._ Youngjae contemplates the number to himself as he fully enters the apartment, a bit surprised at the rather spacious design. The kitchen and living room are both small, and a hallway extends down the length with a bedroom on each flank. A single bathroom sits at the end of the hall, and while the apartment isn’t anything remarkable, it definitely is a little better than what Youngjae expected for the price.

“…Daehyun?” Youngjae experiments, unsure if his roommate really is home. He peeked inside the bedroom on the left side of the hall, finding that much of it is already furnished with what Youngjae could only assume is Daehyun’s things. But other than that, Daehyun is nowhere to be found, and Youngjae can’t help but wonder where he might be.

Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Unpacking is already a stressful enough of an experience, and Youngjae is sure unpacking with Daehyun nearby would have made it twice as terrible.

Youngjae takes his time as he lugs all his things into the bedroom on the right, already feeling himself begin to sweat from the work of it all. He never really was a very neat person, but today would be an exception as he carefully folded, stored, and hung his clothes in his new closet. Youngjae’s desk slowly but surely filled with his books for the semester, supplies, and little decorations he liked to keep to help bring some color and life into the otherwise barren room. He placed his makeup and accessories in the drawer by his bed, and after a few minutes of making sure that nothing was missing, he finally threw on his bed sheets, simple but pink, fluffing out the pillows he managed to bring before falling back against his freshly made bed with a loud sigh of relief. 

_Finished._

He basks in his sheets for a few minutes more before glancing back at the time.

_2:43,_ and Daehyun is still yet to be seen.

_Where is he?_

Youngjae swallows as he sits up, catching his eyes in the mirror on the wall.

The blouse he wears is simple and loose as it falls just past his shoulders, exposing the thin necklace that hangs comfortably from his neck, a small golden star shining between his collarbones. He has a matching earring, one of a little planet dangling from his right ear, both accessories gifts from his best friend. His pants are chiffon and high-waisted, a solid black that purposely contrasts the white of his blouse.

It’s an outfit that isn’t as… _colorful_ as the one he wore the last time he saw Daehyun. Last night, Youngjae had spent a little too much time planning his outfit for today, unable to erase the memory of Daehyun’s stare when he first saw him. Youngjae still isn’t completely sure what it all meant, but he tried to keep it simple and elegant today. Looking at himself now, however, Youngjae can’t help but feel a little _insecure_ anyways.

He wants to pull his sleeves up, to cover his shoulders and the skin he’s left exposed. He wants to remove his necklace and the earring that matched, to hide them somewhere nobody could ever find them. He wants to take off the gloss that sits on his lips, the mascara he had taken the time to brush into his lashes. Youngjae wants to take it all off and put something _else_ on, something safe and something that wasn’t _him._

Because maybe then he wouldn’t feel this way, maybe then he wouldn’t be so worried about Daehyun accepting him, maybe then Youngjae can face Daehyun without feeling so strangely _apologetic_.

His fingers fall to his lap, but his eyes do not leave his own. 

Just as he reaches for the hem of his blouse, he hears the front door to the apartment open outside.

Youngjae freezes.

_Daehyun._

He doesn’t think as he gets up, he doesn’t think as he opens his own door, he doesn’t think as he steps out into the hallway, and he _can’t_ think as he meets Daehyun’s surprised eyes with his own.

“Youngjae…” He sounds breathless. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Youngjae finally says, and a soft smile lifts his lips. “Hey, Daehyun.”

“Did you already move everything in?” Daehyun asks him, and Youngjae only nods in response. “Damn, you could have called me. I wanted to help—” He stops himself, as if only then realizing something, and Youngjae blinks when he himself realizes that there’s a girl behind Daehyun, and she’s looking right at him.

She says something that’s too quiet for Youngjae to hear, and Daehyun awkwardly looks back at Youngjae before moving aside, gesturing towards her with a thin smile. “Youngjae, uh, this is Nahyun,” he says, but he pauses. Long enough to convey his hesitation. “My…girlfriend.”

It isn’t a surprise, but Youngjae’s eyebrow quirks.

_Why did he hesitate?_

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Youngjae!” Nahyun happily greets him, stepping forward and shaking his hand in a friendly manner. “Daehyun mentioned that I’d probably like you, and I think he’s right. Your outfit is so cute!”

Youngjae looks at her, surprised by the sincerity in her smile. She’s very cute. Her hair is tied back in a long ponytail and the dress she wears is simple but sunny like the bright day outside. Her sneakers look a bit weathered from years of use, but all in all, Nahyun is just about as plain as Daehyun is. 

“Thank you,” Youngjae says, cheeks flushing from the compliment. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” He spares another quick glance at Daehyun, but Daehyun is not looking at him.

“We just got back from exploring that new building on campus they built over the summer,” Nahyun explains, excitement in her tone. “It’s _huge._ I’d mistake it for a mall if I didn’t know any better.”

“Oh, I remember that,” Youngjae says, recalling the many advertisements the school had put up about the new property. “How was the inside?”

_“Gorgeous,”_ Nahyun raves. “There were actual windows in the lecture halls. _Windows!”_ She then moves towards Daehyun’s bedroom, releasing a soft sigh as she pouts at Youngjae. “Anyways, I wish I could stay around to chat some more, but I have to go to work soon. We just came back to pick up my stuff.”

“Oh,” Youngjae steps to the side, glancing back at Daehyun as Nahyun disappears into his bedroom. “Are you leaving, too?”

Daehyun looks at him as if he isn’t sure what to say. “Well…just to drop her off,” he utters.

“Alright, drive safe,” Youngjae murmurs, and just as he’s about to retreat into his own room, Nahyun returns, a bag hanging from her shoulder.

“Okay, I’m ready!” she chirps, casting Daehyun an expectant look as she crosses the apartment.

Daehyun seems to go blank for a second before he looks back at Youngjae, and then to his girlfriend once more. “Actually, uh, do you think you can take the bus?” he asks her, and Youngjae pauses.

Nahyun looks at him in surprise. “Uh…yeah, I guess. But I thought you were—”

“Youngjae and I decided that we should go shopping for some groceries,” Daehyun says, and Youngjae isn’t sure what to make of the situation, merely listening in quiet interest. “If we go now I can probably have something done in time for dinner.”

“Oh…” Nahyun appears a bit unsure, gazing towards Youngjae in search for confirmation. Youngjae can’t bring himself to speak, so he only nods. She looks back up at Daehyun, a smile on her lips. “Alright. You can still pick me up tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Daehyun tells her. “Definitely.”

“Okay.” She leans up and gives him a quick kiss on the lips, and Youngjae awkwardly looks away. “See you.”

“See you,” Daehyun utters back, and then she’s out the door, leaving the two roommates alone together in the silence that remains.

Youngjae doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t even know how to _react_ as he stares at Daehyun’s back, unable to understand why he would even lie to her like that.

Abruptly, Daehyun turns around, their eyes meeting once more as he opens his mouth to speak. “Should we go?” he asks Youngjae.

Youngjae stares at him. “Why did you tell her that?”

“I…” Daehyun hesitates. “I don’t know, but…we should actually go. There’s no food in the fridge and I’m not really in the mood for takeout.” He fidgets a bit, and Youngjae begins to wonder if there was more to Daehyun than he initially realized.

Youngjae swallows as his gaze drops to the ground. He isn’t sure what to think. “Let me just get my things,” he murmurs, his heart curiously beginning to race. 

Daehyun blinks. “Of course.”

And instantly Youngjae slips back into his room, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it. He feels incredibly tired, his bed a tempting sight and the thought of sleeping even _more_ tantalizing, but he also feels so, _so_ confused. It all happened too quickly – Daehyun coming back, Nahyun, _his girlfriend,_ Daehyun _lying_ to his girlfriend…and for what reason?

_Don’t assume too much._ Youngjae shakes his head before his thoughts can spiral too far and reaches for his bag, reminding himself to stay careful, to stay guarded, to not let another man rip down everything he’s fought to become.

When Youngjae opens the door, Daehyun is sitting in the kitchen and waiting for him. He looks up and offers Youngjae a kind smile. It’s plain enough, but to Youngjae, it’s oddly familiar. It reminds him of ugly T-shirts and days spent laughing along to jokes he never found very funny. Of shameful eyes and the transparent lies that came with them every time he stared into the mirror. 

Of someone who is trying so desperately to be someone he isn’t.

_He might be someone special._

Youngjae doesn’t pry, simply returning Daehyun’s smile as they leave their apartment.

But still, he wonders, and Youngjae’s heart begins to flutter in his chest, unable to mask the curious excitement it holds for the year ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote about a billion versions of this chapter before settling for this so i hope it's okay


	3. quiet

_“Don’t you want me?”_

He almost hesitates.

“I do,” he says. Their lips are inches apart. “…I’m just…nervous.”

She stares at him. Discerning him. Searching for any grimace, any sign that contradicts his words. She smiles when she finds none, bashful, _beautiful_ in a way that should make his heart race, but it tugs at a different string, not one of wonder but of something _else_. Her fingers slip through his hair, their proximity so intimate he can feel her breath against his skin. It makes him shiver.

“I trust you,” she whispers.

His heart drops, acid clinging to the back of his throat as the syllables etch themselves into his chest. He forces his eyes shut, swallowing back the dread that begins to simmer through his blood. _No_ , he tells himself. _You can do this_. She trusts him. _She trusts you._

_But that’s the problem, isn’t it?_

They kiss – _her_ with a passion that burns of years spent yearning, and _him_ with distance despite their entwined history. Another shiver runs through his veins, rippling with every sigh she releases and every taste she seeks. Her body pervades what little space they have left as she molds against him, warm in his lap, touching what she can and inhaling the heat that rises between them.

_You want this,_ he tells himself.

Her hands find his.

_You need this,_ he reminds himself.

She brings them to her hips.

_You’ll love this,_ he promises himself.

Lower.

_You’ll love her._

Closer.

_“I love you.”_

He shatters. Every bit of him. He can’t pretend. He doesn’t want to.

She’s breathless when he gently pushes her away.

_“I can’t,”_ Daehyun confesses. “Nahyun, I really can’t do this.”

The glow in her eyes wavers. She’s hurt. He can feel it.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, but she’s quick to smile, understanding like she always is. She doesn’t ask for an explanation. _She never does._

_I’m not ready,_ he almost whispers. But he can’t find it in himself to lie to her any longer.

Daehyun wakes with heavy eyes and an aching shoulder. 

He’s used to this by now.

The aching shoulder comes from an injury to his rotator cuff two years ago after a rather merciless swim practice. He still has a hard time recalling all the details of that blurry day. The only thing he could remember was the lecture from his coach about his butterfly form and how he was bound to break something from it. Daehyun was the only one who found it kind of funny when his prediction came true. Nonetheless, the injury has healed by now and the pain is mostly meaningless, just a dull morning stiffness that comes and goes with a few stretches.

The heavy eyes are a little less lenient. They’ve become an innate feature of his mornings, ever present to the point that a good night’s sleep is like another childhood memory lost. Like field trips to the zoo and the flavors of his birthday cakes, Daehyun has forgotten what it was like to wake up without feeling the crushing weight of the world around him. Yet _another_ restless night, burdened by the weight of his cumbersome dreams. 

_That wasn’t really a dream, though, was it?_

Daehyun lets out a low sigh, rubbing his hands over his face in a vain attempt to wash both the exhaustion from his eyes and the memory from his head.

It’s been like this for the past few weeks or so. His vivid dreams often mimicked the stressors of reality, jolting him awake in the middle of the night. Burned by whatever his subconscious decided to torture him with, Daehyun’s sleepless mind would be left to wander without any direction nor end. Daehyun would find himself staring unblinkingly at the ceiling for hours without rest, only relenting upon the first sight of dawn.

His gaze shifts to his alarm clock, and one look at the time forces him out of bed. It’s nearing 7 in the morning and Daehyun had promised himself he’d get better at getting out of bed in time. He winces when his shoulder aches in protest, wishing for a moment that these morning pests weren’t so persistent.

Daehyun’s stare is blank when he finally exits his room, eyes bleary from the sting of fatigue. He soothes his aching injury with a hand as his stare settles on Youngjae’s bedroom door just opposite of his, the untouched wooden surface offering him no word, no greeting. Unease fills Daehyun’s features as his mind recollects the previous night and how… _strange_ he had felt to see Youngjae in what is now supposed to be _their_ home _._ His grip on his shoulder tightens, pain forcing a hiss out of his lips as he tries his best to smother the way his heart pulsates in his chest.

The silence of their little apartment is interrupted only by the stir of Daehyun’s feet as he makes his way to the bathroom. He tries to remain as quiet as possible, unsure of whether Youngjae is actually awake or not. Though, as he remembers Youngjae’s message patterns from the first time they met, Daehyun could safely guess that Youngjae definitely isn’t the type to rise early. It brings _some_ relief to Daehyun, to have so much time to himself, time that could be used to do and think about _anything_ but the things that pry their way into his dreams every night.

His grip on the shower faucet tightens as he sets it to cold. The shock of it brings little to the life in his eyes, but for the long day ahead of him Daehyun knows that this will have to do.

Sometimes the cool droplets are biting enough to distract Daehyun from his own thoughts. They remove the drapes he normally keeps around the things he fears most, allowing his mind to wander through the fragile bits of sincerity that his consciousness would otherwise forbid. Thoughts of a _woman_ with eyes that pined for something he could never offer. Thoughts of a _man_ whose world he so deeply ached to unravel. Daehyun feels his breath as it begins to thin, and eventually his head goes light, asphyxiated as the shower squeaks to a stop.

He quietly blinks the water out his eyes.

The scent of soap lingers as Daehyun leaves the bathroom, towel tied firmly around his hips as he runs his fingers through his dampened locks. He releases a low breath, and the drapes that surrounded his musings pull back into place, concealing what was left of his most visceral desires.

He’s back to the way he normally is. Suppressing and existing for the sake of ease.

The hallway has a surprisingly pleasant warmth to it that eases the tension around his shoulders. It’s enough to numb him from the usual throb in his chest. Daehyun is just about to enter his room again when the door behind him suddenly opens. 

A drip of water falls from his hair and drops onto the floor.

Their eyes meet and Daehyun swears he feels his heart skip right through his throat.

“Oh—” Youngjae’s hair is frayed and covers his eyes. Still, he’s kind enough to look away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The moment passes just as quickly as Youngjae leaves. Not another word spoken nor another glance spared, the boy who looks so pretty even at the gutting hour of 7 in the morning so effortlessly managing to stun Daehyun into absolute silence.

…Daehyun is sure he must look ridiculous standing there alone in the hallway in just a towel and… _not much else._

He’s flustered as he retreats into the safety of his room, locking the door behind him and releasing a breath too feeble to fully free him from his embarrassment. Daehyun knows he has no real reason to feel so embarrassed, but the rational part of his mind is incapable of calming the way his pulses pound.

_Youngjae…_ really, how could Daehyun get used to _this?_

Daehyun grits his teeth when his shoulder begins to ache again. It seems he’s lost the fight against _himself_ this morning, and Daehyun succumbs to self-pity as he struggles to find something to wear for the day.

_Calm down,_ he urges himself. His eyes are weary as he stands before the mirror, fingers pushing the last button of his shirt into place. _Just talk to him,_ but the very thought of it sends Daehyun’s heart into a frenzy.

His hand hovers over his chest, too afraid to touch it as it pounds, confusion evident in his expression as he desperately tries to understand why… _why_ can’t he calm down? Never have Daehyun’s thoughts so abruptly short-circuited from something as miniscule as eye contact. Never has Daehyun’s blood rushed so feverishly through his veins from the simple sound of someone’s voice. _Humiliating,_ he thinks, and he crushes his hand over his chest, fingers wrinkling around the fabric of his shirt as he urges himself to calm down. 

Yesterday, too, Daehyun is sure he looked like an absolute _fool_ in that store whenever Youngjae asked him something, suggested something else, attempted to make basic conversation like any _normal_ person would. But Daehyun had barely been able to reciprocate a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer back. Nodding, one-worded responses, a stutter, a stammer, it was _petrifying_ to even remember.

He had found plenty of people attractive before, but none had ever affected him like _this_.

_But why now?_

Daehyun bites his tongue. Briefly, a feminine laugh lingers in his ears. _Patient_ with him, _patient_ like she always is.

_Why now? And why not—_

He stops it there. Sometimes answers aren’t worth the trouble.

Daehyun waits for his heart to settle before he allows himself to leave his room once more. Uncertainty is evident in the stiffness of his stance, but his gaze searches for Youngjae, finding him sitting by the kitchen counter, eyes are trained on his phone as a single nail rests between his lips.

_His hair is a mess,_ Daehyun belatedly realizes, strands that are normally soft and flat now sticking out and curling in at different directions. The shirt Youngjae wears is clearly too big for him, the collar wide as it sits haphazardly around his neck, exposing the surface of his right shoulder to the stale air around them. His sleeves are wrinkled and pushed up to his elbows, but the tension isn’t enough to stay, and slowly the right sleeve eases back down his forearm.

Youngjae shifts in his seat with a huff, clearly annoyed by the inconvenience of his sleeve as he adjusts the baggy shirt at his shoulders. He then pulls his legs up, resting his chin against his bare knees while his hand carefully fixes the glasses that sit on his nose back into place. They’re pink, (which doesn’t come as a surprise to Daehyun) and it’s then that Youngjae finally seems to notice Daehyun’s presence. 

“Good morning,” Youngjae says, soft and simple as he covers up a rather big yawn. He blinks away the moisture from his eyes, his stare trying its hardest to appear alert and oriented through the midst of it all. 

…How… _normal,_ Daehyun thinks. _Like he’s right at home._

Something about the sight eases his nerves.

“Morning,” Daehyun manages, offering the sleepy boy a small smile.

Youngjae kindly returns it before focusing on his phone once more, the sounds of his nails tapping against the screen filling the air around them. Daehyun takes this moment to formally enter the small kitchen, hand unconsciously reaching for his shoulder despite the fact that the pain has mostly dissipated for the morning, words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

“Are you hungry?” Daehyun asks, and Youngjae seems startled by his voice, almost as if he hadn’t expected Daehyun to still be standing there.

“Huh?”

“…Are you hungry?” Daehyun asks him again, this time turning towards the fridge to shuffle through its stock. “We have enough stuff in here for a decent omelet.”

“Oh, yeah…” Youngjae takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes, tone apologetic despite the way a yawn cuts through his words. “Sorry, I…I’m not used to being up this early…but I couldn’t get myself to go back to sleep, and…” He cuts himself off, gaze falling to his phone as if contemplating his next words, but silently he settles for none.

Daehyun doesn’t comment on it. “Not a morning person?”

“Definitely not.”

Daehyun simpers at the flatness of his tone. Hearing it from Youngjae himself is oddly endearing.

Quiet fills the space between them then as Daehyun works on preparing them breakfast as promised. It’s a bit awkward at first, Daehyun hyperaware of Youngjae’s inaudible presence just a few meters away. He knows he’s worried over nothing, Youngjae could barely even open his eyes at the moment, much less judge Daehyun for his cooking skills. Plus, Daehyun considers himself quite a decent cook anyways, and while he’s far from a world-class chef, Daehyun has been told by others that he’s quite good at what he does.

His body eases into the flow of motions he knows all too well, raw ingredients slowly intertwining into a dish of his own making. It’s soothing, and a mostly mindless and mundane activity as far as Daehyun is concerned. So mindless that he doesn’t even notice Youngjae even when the curious boy stands right behind him.

“Putting on quite the show, aren’t you?” Youngjae idly observes, and Daehyun visibly bristles, unable to hide the shock in his expression when he turns to meet Youngjae’s eyes. Youngjae gives him a strange stare. “You’re jumpier than you look.”

“S-Sorry…” Daehyun clears his throat, inwardly hoping that the rising heat from the stove will somehow mask the redness of his cheeks. “I just didn’t expect you to be standing there like that.”

Youngjae hums, dismissing it as he tilts his head over Daehyun’s shoulder in an effort to peek at the pan in front of him. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook. I’m so used to take-outs and microwaved dinners that I forgot that there are people our age who actually know how to take care of themselves.”

“…Well, knowing how to cook doesn’t mean I _never_ microwave a dinner or two,” Daehyun admits, and his heart skips a beat when he hears Youngjae snicker. “But luckily for you, I’m used to cooking for two.” Daehyun doesn’t even realize how implicative his comment sounds until after he’s said it out loud, and in his self-inflicted horror he nearly forgets to flip his omelet over. 

Youngjae doesn’t seem to notice Daehyun’s blunder. “I’m sure my mom will be happy to hear that I won’t be living off of canned sausages for the next 4 months.” He then stretches his arms over his head, shirt lifting ever so slightly, but Daehyun is quick to look back towards the pan on the stove. “I didn’t even realize how hungry I was until you started cooking…I normally _never_ have breakfast.”

Daehyun wipes a bit of sweat from his brow, reaching over to turn down the heat on the stove. “Isn’t breakfast the most important meal of the day?”

“It is, yet somehow I always manage to sleep right through it.” Youngjae simply shrugs, moving to stand next to Daehyun to get a better view of his cooking. “My body just wasn’t having it this time around, though. Couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried.”

“…Sounds like we both needed a pick-me-up this morning,” Daehyun muses.

Youngjae looks at him. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

A pause impedes the conversation as Daehyun’s dream invades his head. The grimace it pulls from him is unavoidable, but he prefers not to dwell on it. _Not now._ “Not really,” he answers after a moment. “Maybe it’s the first-day-of-school nerves.”

“…Maybe…” Youngjae murmurs, quiet enough that Daehyun instinctively spares him a curious glance.

Youngjae isn’t looking at him, eyes trained on the countertop in front of him, fingers gripping the edge ever so slightly. _Quiet_ , not just his voice but the aura that surrounds him, too, and Daehyun wonders what could have dwindled Youngjae’s mood so suddenly. He seems torn by something, and judging by the insecurity in Youngjae’s posture and the way he chews on his lip, Daehyun can tell he’s been torn by whatever this is for a long time now.

“…Hey,” Daehyun says. “Are you okay?” 

Youngjae’s lashes flutter as he blinks, and when he turns he’s met with Daehyun’s concerned gaze. They stare at one another for seconds that feel like eternities to Daehyun, and just like that, Youngjae returns.

“Ah, yeah…” Youngjae sheepishly brushes a hand through his hair, giving Daehyun a smile of reassurance. “Sorry. Looks like my hunger is zoning me out.”

Daehyun swallows. He’s sure that there’s more, but he decides not to pry any further. “This one might be ready,” he says, and he grabs a nearby plate, carefully sliding the finished omelet onto its ceramic surface. “Here.”

Youngjae timidly takes it, uttering a small ‘thanks’ as he turns to head towards the small dining table just outside of the kitchen. Daehyun releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, shoulders physically relaxing from the bit of space he’s been given. His heart slows, but only by a small fraction in comparison to the palpitations he had felt when Youngjae was near.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you know how to cook,” Youngjae suddenly says, and Daehyun glances at him to see that he’s already – and rather shamelessly – enjoying his freshly-cooked omelet. “Definitely earned a 5-star review.”

“It’s just an omelet,” Daehyun says, slightly amused by the dramatic compliment. He pours the second batch in and turns the heat up a little higher. “But thanks anyways.”

“You say that like you’ve never tasted the watery omelets they serve up in the dining halls,” Youngjae quips. Daehyun lets out a chuckle, unable to deny him there. “Is cooking a hobby of yours?” Youngjae asks next. “I noticed you were buying a lot of stuff last night…and I mean, like, actual stuff. Not like the piles of snacks I bought.”

“Well, I used to help out my mom in the kitchen growing up, and I may have picked up a thing or two from all that,” Daehyun answers, a small smile lifting his lips as he recalls a few of those fond memories. “It’s relaxing.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Youngjae says with a melodramatic sigh. “I can’t even fry an egg without burning it _and_ the pan. Not to mention all the shells I always have to fish out of the yolk after I’ve cracked one. My mom actually started rejecting me whenever I offered to help her.”

Daehyun snorts. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. I just wasn’t blessed with that type of… _finesse_ , I guess.” Youngjae takes another bite out of his omelet, appearing completely unbothered by his lack of culinary prowess.

“I could teach you some time,” Daehyun offers before he can stop himself, and he keeps his eyes on the pan before him despite feeling the way Youngjae’s gaze lingers on him.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Daehyun flips his omelet, the sizzling mixture landing on the pan with a satisfying _plop_. “We could start with cracking eggs.”

Youngjae releases a breath of a laugh, a genuine one that has Daehyun glancing back at him in surprise. He’s smiling, endeared by Daehyun’s humor. “I’m looking forward to it, then.”

Daehyun is so caught up in his little smile that he doesn’t even realize he’s staring, not until the gradual sound of his omelet burning against his pan catches his attention. The heat catches up to his neck and Daehyun is quick to turn back to the stove, skin entirely too warm at such an early hour of the day. 

His omelet does end up a bit browner than he would have liked, but the way Youngjae’s little laugh lingers in his head makes him forget about the inconvenience anyways. His heart flutters in his chest, and for the first time that morning, he doesn’t seem to mind it at all.

-

Inside Daehyun’s room, his phone rings, unheard and untouched. It’s alone as it vibrates against his bedsheets, tossed aside and forgotten over Daehyun’s fretful morning. Daehyun sits just outside, indulging in a breakfast with his new roommate, not a thought on his mind towards his missing phone nor the person who continues to message him over the plans he promised her for that day.

Somewhere else, Nahyun finally puts her own phone down. She’s quiet as she contemplates the palpitations in her chest. Quiet as she wonders if Daehyun had even seen her texts.

_Quiet_ as she fears that he’s thinking of her less and less.

-

“Sorry about earlier, by the way.”

“About what?”

“Uh…” Daehyun briefly glances down at the omelet on his plate as if its image could somehow encourage him. “About the hallway…when I…”

Youngjae looks at him in confusion, wiping away a bit of grease that lingers on his lips. “Why are you apologizing? I was the one who scared you.”

Daehyun hesitates, tongue feeling tied as he tries to figure out the best way to phrase this. “Well…I mean…I just wanted to make sure I didn’t make you…um… _uncomfortable_ with the, uh…” … _Definitely_ not the best way to phrase this.

There’s a pause between them, stagnant and awkward before Youngjae’s brow twitches downward.

“Daehyun,” Youngjae slowly says. “I’m a guy, too.”

A flush begins to creep along Daehyun’s neck as soon as he realizes he’s dug himself into a hole with no real hope of crawling back out. Half of him wants to stuff the rest of his food into his mouth and leave, but the more sensible part of him locks him in his seat. “Right…but…”

He’s quiet, then, and so is Youngjae. It’s evident that Daehyun doesn’t know what to say, and Daehyun can only hope Youngjae can fill in the blanks for him.

Youngjae breaks their silence with a soft sigh, but his eyes are filled with fatigue, as if what he is about to say next is something he’s recited a million times before. _“I’m_ not uncomfortable, but if _you_ are I can promise you I’ll keep my distance.”

Something bitter lingers in the air after Youngjae’s words, tangible enough to make Daehyun wince. Daehyun feels his heart drop to his stomach as Youngjae swiftly cuts up the rest of his omelet, taking bites much faster now than he was before Daehyun brought the admittedly miniscule incident back up. 

_How does he even fix this?_ “That’s…not what I meant…”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” Youngjae questions him, and there’s a sharpness in his eyes that conveys his distaste. “Because I can assure you, Daehyun. Everything you have I’ve already seen.”

He feels as if he’s being pushed into a corner. “I…I know, but…” Daehyun frowns, frustrated with his own inability to communicate properly. He knows what he wants to say, but none of it is coming out _right. “Boundaries,_ I mean…we haven’t really—”

“Set them?” Youngjae picks up his now empty plate. “I don’t think we have to. You’ve already made them quite clear.”

Daehyun watches in bewilderment as Youngjae gets up and heads back to the kitchen without another word, leaving Daehyun alone at the dining table with his now cold and half-eaten omelet. He briefly registers the sound of his fork clattering against the edge of the table and dropping onto the ground. 

_What just happened?_

It takes a minute as Daehyun tries to process their conversation, head attempting to wrap around both his own words and Youngjae’s, but he’s unable to concentrate with the memory of Youngjae’s disgusted glare. He’s never seen such an expression on Youngjae’s face before, only able to recall unabashed smiles and gentle stares.

He messed up, Daehyun _knows_ he messed up, and it’s only then that Daehyun realizes how horrible he must have sounded in his attempt to understand the limits of their newfound relationship as roommates. Self-deprecation manifests itself as another throb in his shoulder. He didn’t mean to offend Youngjae, _really_. All Daehyun wanted to know was what was considered acceptable and unacceptable between them now that they’re officially living together _._ Privacy is hard to come by when sharing a home with another individual, and while Daehyun didn’t particularly mind what happened this morning, he hadn’t known if Youngjae did.

They simply don’t _know_ each other yet, but Daehyun understands now why Youngjae might have misinterpreted his intentions. He recalls their first meeting, how _broken_ Youngjae had sounded when he apologized for hiding his sexual orientation from him that day. It was horrible to hear, and the memory alone has his hands clenching together. 

He gets up, following Youngjae to the kitchen with not a single thought but to make this better.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun says as he approaches, but Youngjae’s back is to him, washing his plate at the sink without a word or glance in his direction. “Youngjae, I’m sorry.” Still no answer. Daehyun swallows back his hesitation, willing himself to hold onto what little courage he has left as he calls Youngjae’s name out a little louder, but when he still receives no response, he decides to air it out, _“I don’t mind.”_

Youngjae scrubs hard enough to scratch. “You seem to.”

“I…didn’t mean to make it seem that way. You just…I’m just…” Daehyun pauses. There’s only so much he could say but again the words seem to escape him. “I’m just _nervous.”_

Youngjae immediately scoffs. “If only more straight guys spent their time admitting that than barking out _no homo.”_

Daehyun’s gaze wavers, but he clears his throat. “That’s…not what this is.”

The faucet squeaks to a stop. Youngjae finally turns to look at him, still guarded but searching for the truth. “Then what are you so nervous about?” 

“Us.”

His heart pounds. It fell from his lips before Daehyun could stop himself, and the brief eye contact he shares with Youngjae nearly takes his breath away. Youngjae himself seems a bit stunned by the weight of such a small syllable, but before he could say anything, Daehyun adds, “As roommates.”

Youngjae remains quiet.

“This…this is my first time rooming with someone I don’t know, and I just…I want us to work out,” Daehyun finally says, and he finds it difficult to hold Youngjae’s gaze, finds it difficult not to fumble under such honest eyes. “There are things we don’t know about each other yet, like…habits and living preferences…I don’t want things to be… _weird_ between us because one of us accidentally did something the other one didn’t like.” Daehyun cringes. “I’m not making much sense right now, am I?”

Youngjae stares at him, discerning him, searching for any grimace, any sign that contradicts his words. Somehow, Daehyun finds this feeling familiar, and he waits with bated breath for Youngjae’s next move. His heart feels as if it’s being tugged in multiple different directions, struggling to anchor itself despite the anxiety that threatens to keep him under.

A small sigh escapes Youngjae’s lips, and he quietly looks away, a mixture of emotions in his eyes whispering multiple different things at once, but they all settle together with one simple word, _“Sorry.”_

… _Sorry?_

Of all the things he expected Youngjae to say, an apology was the least of them all. Daehyun’s isn’t even sure what to say, or if he even deserves it.

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae repeats, and when he meets Daehyun’s stare again, the shame he conveys is undoubtedly sincere. “I guess I wasn’t being very fair…I’m just so used to other guys being so… _uncomfortable_ around me that I just…I just assumed you were like them…”

Daehyun’s expression immediately softens, and he almost steps forward, almost reaches out and pulls Youngjae into his arms. _Almost,_ but his fingertips burn as he stands in place. “No, don’t apologize,” he says. “I really should have been clearer, but it seems like I’ve done nothing but butcher my words lately.”

Youngjae bites his lip, traces of insecurity lingering in his eyes. “Still, I…I shouldn’t have put words in your mouth.”

“It’s okay,” Daehyun reassures him. “You really don’t need to apologize for things that aren’t your fault.” He then offers Youngjae a small smile of comfort. “And I meant it when I said I don’t mind.”

Slowly, Youngjae returns his smile. His gaze is soft, vulnerable but laced with his gratitude. It takes Daehyun’s breath away.

“Thanks, Daehyun,” Youngjae breathes. “That means more to me than you’ll ever realize.” 

-

When Daehyun finally checks his phone, he is already halfway out of his apartment building, backpack slung over one shoulder and earphones plugged in as he listens to this week’s latest hits. He quietly reads through Nahyun’s messages, answering her questions without a second thought before pocketing the device and heading for the parking garage down the street.

Somewhere else, Nahyun’s heart speeds up at the sight of his name on her screen. She’s quick to respond, adding a little heart as she tells him again that she loves him.

She holds onto it, onto _this_ despite the way her conscience warns her not to.

Sometimes it is easier to forgive than to question. 

-

First days always manage to swing Youngjae through a typical paradox constructed by optimists. Every year he tells himself that this time around he’ll be studious and productive, he’ll make lots of new friends, he’ll meet lots of new people and run into lots of new opportunities. And then every year Youngjae instead finds himself in the furthest seat near the furthest corner in the lecture hall, barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to open his laptop to his notes, silent and completely alone in his row because nobody ever really wants to meet new people during these kinds of things.

The excitement that comes with the first day of class is always a dirty little hoax.

Youngjae has half the mind to skip the rest of the day, his mind completely numb to his previous lecture and the incredibly impossible syllabus that’s been prepared for them. His feet drag a little as he walks, his lack of energy coming with an intense craving for the taste of sweets. The thought of a donut sparks his motivation just enough to keep his chin up, and he rationalizes that if he’s going to make it through the rest of this day, he’ll need _something._

His feet take him to the biggest student center on campus, large automatic doors greeting him at the entrance. Youngjae stands just outside of its sensors, hands gripping the straps of his backpack as he catches his own stare through his reflection on the glass doors before him. He brings a hand up to fluff his hair out a little bit, hoping to bring some life back into it despite how awfully _dead_ his eyes look.

Youngjae frowns, frustrated with the little success his makeup has had in hiding the darkness beneath his eyes. He swears to himself that he’ll never stay up so late ever again, but Youngjae knows that’s a lie.

Instead, he stands up a bit straighter, continuing to adjust the other bits and pieces of his outfit. Now that he’s looking at himself, there’s just _so much_ that needs to be fixed. His split-sleeve top is black and cuffs at his wrists, exposing his shoulders to the heat of the afternoon sun. It’s pretty and definitely one of his favorite tops, but the annoying thing about it was the way the cuffs always managed to misalign themselves, sloppily asymmetrical, _unpresentable,_ and Youngjae pouts his peach-tinted lips as he twists them back into place.

He carefully turns to get a look of himself from behind, noticing that parts of his shirt have managed to loosen themselves from where they had been tucked into his olive-colored pants. Youngjae lets out quiet huff as he pushes the fabric back into place, tugging his pants up and tightening the ribbon that cinches it all together at his waist. His ankle boots are a neutral color, very dull and very _safe,_ thankfully free of any scratches and stains, one of his rare pairs of shoes that weren’t completely weathered by time. Youngjae places his hand on the thin choker around his neck, a simple black band that never failed to complement his light skin. 

_Acceptable,_ Youngjae thinks, and he crosses his arms over his chest as if he hadn’t spent the last 5 minutes indulging in his own appearance. He takes a step forward, his reflection splitting apart as the glass doors do, and he enters the building with a fancy flourish in his movements.

It’s easier to ignore the stares he receives when he walks this way, when his clothes glide through the air with him, when every little detail that he’s so carefully constructed holds him together in complete harmony. It conveys confidence in a manner that drums louder than the fragility of his own heartbeat. 

By the time Youngjae’s finally gotten his donut he only has 30 minutes left until his next class. A bit annoying, but his next class isn’t too far away, so he relaxes in a booth by himself, mindlessly scrolling through his phone and taking little bites of his little dessert. Social media’s been a bore nowadays, but he pauses when he catches a glimpse of a _particular_ name.

A flush of loneliness settles on his cheeks. Youngjae licks away the frosting that rests on his lips as his heart begins aches in his chest. He’s just about to press on the name when a voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“Strawberry donuts suit you.”

Youngjae can’t help the smile that lifts his face. “They’re my favorite for a reason.”

Mikyong lets out a little laugh, reaching forward and pinching his cheek before taking a seat across from him. She’s dressed more casually than usual, hair pulled up into a messy bun with loose locks that frame her already slim face. Her sweater is far too large for her and would probably be too overbearing in this weather if not for the fishnets that laced around her legs. Her outfits are only ever black with some hints of violet or crimson or some sort of equally royal, equally dark color, but Youngjae has always admired her for her eccentric sense of style. He shouldn’t be one to judge anyways.

“Don’t tell me that’s the only thing you’ve eaten today,” Mikyong chides with a dramatic sigh, sharp blue nails clattering against the table. “I don’t understand how you can even make it through your classes like that.”

She knows him, she knows how he always skips breakfast, and she knows how he ends up sleeping so late that he doesn’t have time to eat before class. It never comes as a surprise to her when Youngjae calls a sandwich at 5 PM his _breakfast._

“I don’t,” Youngjae deadpans, “but I actually did have something to eat this morning.”

Mikyong gapes at him. “When?”

“Um…I think it was around 7? Maybe 8?”

_“7?”_ Mikyong looks as if she’s seen the impossible, eyes comically large for someone whose eyeliner is always drawn in so sharp. “Wow, you really took this _new-year-new-me_ thing seriously this time around, huh?”

Youngjae snorts. “I wish. I honestly couldn’t sleep at all last night and got tired of just lying there all useless like that.”

Mikyong’s playful expression suddenly morphs into one of concern. “What happened?”

Youngjae takes another bite out of his donut and shakes his head. “Anyways, my roommate made us breakfast, so I actually ate something decent for once.”

“Don’t ignore my question.” Mikyong wags a finger at him, but then she pauses. “Wait. We’ll go back to that. First, tell me about your new roommate.”

Youngjae merely looks at her.

“Is he an asshole? And if he is, is he prepared to have my foot shoved up his ass?”

Youngjae rolls his eyes, though he’s always been amused by how overprotective his friend is. “Honestly? He could be worse.”

Mikyong shifts in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest as she narrows her eyes at Youngjae. “I don’t like that answer.”

“But better than another _yes,_ right?” Youngjae points out, and traces of that morning linger in his mind, from the way Daehyun had offered to cook him breakfast to the small smile he had given him before they parted ways. Truthfully, Youngjae isn’t used to kindness from strangers, but what Daehyun did for him had his heart beating a little faster than usual. Still, Youngjae knows better than to open himself up so quickly. “It’s just too early to tell.”

“It’s never too early to judge someone,” Mikyong drily remarks, “especially when they judge you.”

Youngjae simpers, but he doesn’t deny her words. “I just don’t know him yet,” he finally admits, and something lingers in his tone, something close to _longing,_ but he’s quick to bury those feelings into another bite of his donut.

Mikyong watches him, clearly still uneasy with his explanation, but she relents with a soft sigh. “I suppose anyone is better than that piece of shit who bailed on you over the summer. Or your stupid ex.”

Youngjae winces.

“Ah – sorry, I didn’t mean to bring him up so abruptly.”

“It’s okay. I agree.” He doesn’t look at her.

Mikyong stares at him, quiet for a few moments until she finally catches the hesitance in Youngjae’s eyes. “Wait, no, I know that look.” Her stare sharpens. “Don’t tell me he texted you again.”

Youngjae’s gaze shifts towards his phone, to the messages he hasn’t opened and the calls he keeps deleting. He takes another bite out of his donut, but this time the strawberry begins to taste a little stale. “I didn’t answer.”

“Oh my god. _Block him,”_ Mikyong lets out a very long and very frustrated groan. “How many times do I have to tell you to just _block him_ already?”

“I just…” Youngjae’s grip on the napkin holding his donut tightens, parts of the delicate pastry crumbling onto the table. It’s frustrating to him, too, but Youngjae can’t help himself, can’t help the way he still _cares._ “Sometimes he—”

“No, _no,_ I don’t want to hear it. You’ve spent _way_ too long trying to get away from him to let him pull you back in like this again.” Mikyong holds her hand up when Youngjae opens his mouth to protest. “You _know_ what he’s trying to do. You’ve been through this before and I’m not about to let you go through it again.”

Youngjae sinks back his seat. She’s right, he _knows_ she’s right, but the loneliness that sits deep within his heart has him foolishly looking the other way. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll block him the next time he texts me.”

Mikyong’s eyes narrow. “Just block him _now.”_

Youngjae ignores her, finishing the last bit of his donut and wiping his fingers on his napkin. “You get that new piercing over the summer?” he asks instead, continuing to ignore the way Mikyong glares at him.

It’s quiet between them, the loud chatter of students all around them the only thing keeping them from complete and utter silence. Youngjae tosses his napkin out in the nearby trash, giving Mikyong a pointed stare.

“Changing the subject, huh?” Mikyong clicks her tongue but temporarily lets it go, standing up and lifting her giant sweater up enough to reveal the new piercing on her stomach. A tiny black gem sits in the middle of her navel, accentuated by what looked like tiny cat ears. “She’s a bitch to clean but definitely worth it.”

Youngjae lets out a soft whistle, nodding appreciatively as Mikyong sits back down, a proud smile on her lips. “How long until it heals?” he asks her.

“I still have 4 more months to go,” Mikyong answers. “But I’m already thinking about what I’m going to get done next. Maybe another lobe? I do have some needles hanging around…”

“Stop.”

“Hey, Jongup said he was willing to do it for me.”

“Even _worse.”_

Mikyong snorts, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear before her expression suddenly becomes serious again. “But really, Youngjae, I’m serious about blocking your ex—”

_“Well,_ look what we have here!” Youngjae blinks in bewilderment when he’s suddenly shoved to the side, his shoulder roughly hitting the wall as another body presses against him. “Yoo Youngjae, I haven’t seen your little ass in _months!”_

 _Great._ Youngjae knows that voice, he knows that _awful_ smirk that invades his personal space. _Jihoon,_ a guy who seems to find far too much enjoyment in ridiculing Youngjae at every opportunity he finds. They haven’t even shared a class since their first year at the university, yet Jihoon still finds a certain kick in ruining Youngjae’s day.

Youngjae rubs at his shoulder, averting his gaze with a slight grimace. “Can’t say I missed you,” he utters.

“Huh?” Jihoon shouts directly into his ear before roughly rubbing Youngjae’s hair into disarray. “What was that?”

“He said get out of his face, _jackass,”_ Mikyong growls, and she moves forward as if to force him off of Youngjae, but Jihoon doesn’t budge.

“That’s a funny way to greet his best friend,” Jihoon quips, turning towards Youngjae and chortling at the way Youngjae automatically avoids his breath. “Isn’t that right Youngjae? Aren’t I your _favorite_ person in the _whole_ world?” Youngjae doesn’t answer, and Jihoon actually seems irritated by his silence. “Hey, twink, I know you have ears.”

Youngjae clenches his teeth, _but he knows there’s no point._ He can’t fight back, and he _definitely_ can’t say anything that could make people like Jihoon stop _hating_ him so much. Youngjae’s had the misfortune of running into far too many people like this, all with the same predictable jokes, all etching the same exact scar into his already fragile skin. There’s nothing to say when people like Jihoon aren’t willing to listen. Youngjae simply endures, _quiet,_ just like he always is.

“Aren’t you cold?” Jihoon pulls on the strap of Youngjae’s top, and Youngjae flinches away, irritation in his eyes as he swallows back the bile that begins to form in the back of his throat. “Man, not even my _girlfriend_ wears shit like this. She could learn a thing or two from you about showing some skin—”

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Mikyong grits, unwilling to hear anymore as she gets up from her seat, ready to yank Jihoon away when another figure joins them, distaste evident in his eyes as soon as he sees Youngjae there.

“Are you done, Jihoon?” Jaehwan utters, clearly not as amused by the situation in front of him as Jihoon is.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jihoon says with a dismissive wave, finally getting off of Youngjae and standing back up. Youngjae instantly fixes his hair, still so conscious of his appearance even in the midst of this, and Jihoon doesn’t waste a second before smacking Youngjae over the back of his head, hard enough that his lashes well up with tears. _“I’ll see you later, twink.”_

Youngjae instantly looks down, a hand shakily lifting to cover his affliction.

Jaehwan rolls his eyes at the sight, _‘faggot’_ whispered beneath his breath before he and Jihoon take their leave. The pain above his neck stings enough to make him dizzy, but he wipes his unshed tears away and watches the pair go. Youngjae doesn’t really think much, far too used to being treated like this, and he’s just about to look away again until he notices the table Jihoon and Jaehwan join, sees the people sitting there, sees _Daehyun_ sitting there among them all, eyes wide with what Youngjae could only describe as complete and utter _shock_. It is then that Youngjae’s breath catches, and although he’s used to being humiliated, something about _this_ feels exponentially worse.

The pain in his head is swallowed by the throbbing in his chest.

As soon as Youngjae meets his stare, Daehyun is getting up, packing all his things at once and leaving his table before Jihoon and Jaehwan can even take their seats.

“Huh?” Jihoon looks bewildered as he watches Daehyun leave. “Daehyun? Where are you going?”

But Daehyun doesn’t answer, still walking, still leaving, _running_ and disappearing into a crowd of faceless students. What little hope Youngjae had for their relationship shatters at once.

“Are you joking?” Youngjae hears Mikyong say in exasperation. “I can’t believe that asshole is still so obsessed with you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Youngjae murmurs.

Mikyong looks back at him, clearly frustrated with Youngjae’s apathy. “It’s _exactly_ because you don’t do anything that they keep—”

_“It doesn’t matter.”_

_I don’t mind._

How could Youngjae feel so warm, how could Youngjae feel so _safe_ with such simple little words? How could Youngjae let himself fall for the _same_ trick over and over and over again?

He thought he was wrong about Daehyun. He thought he finally found another person who could accept him for him.

It’s almost laughable, that hope Youngjae carried so close to his heart. New friends? New opportunities? _Laughable,_ and so he does, each exhale more bitter than the last.

“Youngjae?” Mikyong’s voice is soft, and she sounds so, _so_ concerned.

But pity is a tiring tone to listen to. 

“You know,” Youngjae says through a thin smile, “sometimes it sucks to be so naïve.”

-

_Awful,_ he feels _awful._

The door shuts behind him and he’s sure he could have closed it quieter, but frankly Youngjae could care less at the moment. He feels like an absolute train wreck, hair an utter tragedy and makeup so weathered he almost looks _ill_. Youngjae wants nothing more than to wash it all off, from the matte that stains his lips to the bruises that grip his thin wrists.

He grits his teeth as he touches the fresh marks, wondering helplessly to himself how his mere appearance could be such a curse by itself. The worst part about it was its unpredictability – some days he could go with nothing more than a few shocked glances, other days he’s running left and right into people who wanted nothing more than to show him exactly how they felt about his notorious _lifestyle._

Sometimes he wishes he didn’t look like this. Sometimes he wishes he could hide. But even hiding is a privilege, it seems, and one he apparently can’t have. 

Youngjae suppresses the urge to outright scream as he heads for his room, not a single thought on his mind other than the pure desire to rip it all away. He barely reaches his door when the one opposite to him opens. Youngjae doesn’t need to look to know exactly how Daehyun is looking at him right now.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun breathes out, and Youngjae closes his eyes. “I...”

He’s quiet.

_Of course he is,_ Youngjae resentfully thinks. He catches a glimpse of Daehyun’s gym bag over his shoulder. He looks as if he’s getting ready to leave, and Youngjae is relieved at the prospect of having the apartment to himself for the rest of the evening. He’d much rather it be like this most evenings, but like most things Youngjae is _sure_ his preferences will fall on deaf ears.

He doesn’t wait for Daehyun to gather his bearings, merely opening his door to step inside, but a sudden pressure around his wrist has him grimacing in pain.

“Wait—” but Daehyun pauses when he feels Youngjae’s distress. “…A-Are you okay?”

“What do you want?” Youngjae finally asks him, but his voice is cold, the product of far too many days and far too many nights dealing with the same thing over and over and _over_ again.

Quiet, again, and then he says it: “I’m sorry.”

Youngjae’s hands clench into fists, his nails digging into the palms of his dirt-stained hands.

“I’m sorry about earlier—”

“You’re an awfully apologetic person, Daehyun,” Youngjae says, and his gaze is sharp as he finally turns to look at him, and like he’d predicted, Daehyun has that same look on his face, that same _meaningless_ look of pity and guilt. “You’re good at it, too.” Youngjae hates the sight of it. “If only you meant it.”

Daehyun’s gaze wavers, but Youngjae doesn’t wait for him to come up with another excuse. He crosses the doorframe into his room, slamming it shut behind him.

Youngjae’s rough as he scrubs away the grime on his face, rough as he tries to forget every insult that bleeds beneath his skin. He dares to look into the mirror, at the raw stare that meets him, at the withered eyes that want nothing more than to _give up._

He’s quiet until a shaky breath leaves his lips. Youngjae bites his thumb and suppresses the urge to cry out.

The boy who sits in front of him looks incredibly _lonely_ , and it’s getting harder and harder to cover him all up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i suck at updating lol


	4. realities

When Youngjae dresses, he spreads his chosen outfit out across his bedsheets and takes his time to smoothen out every wrinkle and crease, eyes analyzing every color and shape and envisioning the silhouette they’ll form around his body. He doesn’t have much, not blessed with any features to accentuate or even hide. It’s something he’s always disliked about himself. His appearance is so utterly boring, his figure small and insignificant, his self-perception trapped within such a narrow frame.

It’s why clothes bring him so much comfort, a certain belt or a certain jacket molding Youngjae’s otherwise unexciting image into something far more presentable. They breathe _life_ into his appearance, carving curves into his body and straightening out his shoulders, pulling his posture up to feign the confidence he aspires for. The colors themselves tell a story of their own, from neutrals to bolds, clashing or matching – _everything_ has its own purpose.

Today, his palette is that of hot cocoa and froth. His sweater vest is knitted and the color of cinnamon, polar to the frosty white of the dress shirt underneath, loosely buttoned, untucked and free to fall to his hips. His shorts are a deeper brown, ends cuffed and hugging his thighs, a sliver of skin left bare until striped socks alternating between chocolate, latte, and cream pull over his knees to convey his reservations. His shoes are black and simple, tied into matching little bows that barely graze against each other when he stands with his feet together. 

It’s an ensemble that voices comfort and warmth. Of sips so sweet there’s almost _too_ much sugar, maraschino cherry perfectly concealing skin that has been battered blue just beneath. 

Deciding what to wear has always been a difficult chore. To Youngjae, his clothes are more than just clothes. They’re the words he can’t use and the stories he can’t tell. The memories he muffles and the ones he holds dear. The emotions he bottles and the dreams he still chases.

His clothes embody who he is.

Every fabric and accessory that decorates his figure is another piece of his identity. In a life that leaves him without power, so intolerant and _unforgiving,_ what Youngjae chooses to wear every day is the only thing he has that gives him any semblance of _control_.

And what more could someone like Youngjae ever ask for? 

-

Almost an entire week passes by and Youngjae has yet to speak a single word to Daehyun.

The thought of it draws a sigh from Daehyun’s lips, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to alleviate his current headache. Daehyun isn’t sure if it’s a matter of their schedules or if Youngjae is truly avoiding him, but Youngjae never seems to be in the apartment at the same time Daehyun is. He almost feels helpless.

Daehyun does _not_ want the rest of the semester to go on like this. He _wants_ to get along with Youngjae, he truly does, and if he’s going to succeed Daehyun knows he’s going to have to get better at communicating with Youngjae. He just hopes that Youngjae _(if he ever catches him, that is)_ will be willing to listen to him stumble this time around.

There are no other words for Daehyun to describe himself with other than _idiot._ He can’t explain it, can’t rationalize his decision to simply _leave_ when it was clear to both him and Youngjae that Daehyun was _there_. Daehyun had _witnessed_ Youngjae’s humiliation yet said and did nothing of it. If there was an expectation there, Daehyun definitely failed to meet it. Even _he_ himself felt speechless by his own inaction.

But what was Daehyun supposed to do?

Never in a million years could Daehyun have expected Jihoon to have noticed Youngjae that day – even Daehyun _didn’t_ until his teammate started the entire thing. Daehyun has known Jihoon for at least _two_ years now. Two years of competing on the same swim team, yet never once had Daehyun heard him speak of or even mention Yoo Youngjae.

It was strange, _jarring_ to see the two together, as if two different worlds had collided right before Daehyun’s jaded eyes. In comparison, he’s only known Youngjae for about a week – maybe a _month_ if you count the days they messaged each other prior to the start of the semester. The fact of the matter is that Daehyun has known Jihoon longer than he has ever known Youngjae, and the familiarity of Jihoon paired against the unfamiliarity of Youngjae seemed to combine into the chain and lock that ultimately sealed Daehyun into silence.

It isn’t an excuse, and if it was, it’s a poor one. But when confronted with reality, there is no telling how someone might act. Daehyun knows what he did was far from right, but to break out from the norm, to speak out so suddenly against something that hadn’t been a problem before is _scary. Reality_ is scary.

He needs to apologize to Youngjae. _Properly,_ if he wants any chance of salvaging their already flimsy relationship. Most of their blunders seem to be the result of Daehyun’s own flaws – _if only he could control…_

“Hey.”

Daehyun blinks back into _this_ reality, a blurry laptop screen slowly refocusing into paragraphs he had failed to read. Above it is his girlfriend’s gentle smile. She’s holding a small cup of coffee out for him to take, beaming as if she expects something from him. It confuses Daehyun at first, the dazed student wasting seconds before he registers what is happening, where he is, and what he is doing there.

_Right,_ he had promised Nahyun he would spend some time with her today, the two finally finding a frame in their schedules that would allow a little reunion. He also hasn’t seen her since the weekend, and while they’ve messaged each other plenty, Daehyun does believe he owes this time to her. Especially considering how busy they both could get, Daehyun thinks they should take what moments they could.

“Hey,” Daehyun greets her in return, closing his laptop and gratefully taking the cup from her. He blows at the dark liquid before taking a tentative sip, relaxing back into the couch he has been occupying for the past hour or so. The heat from his coffee is enough to wake him back up, his throat aching a bit from the harsh burns. 

“How has your day been so far?” Nahyun asks him as she takes her seat next to him, adjusting the skirt of her dress as it settles on her lap.

A small scoff of amusement automatically leaves his throat. He’s _exhausted,_ which isn’t surprising by any means. Not only is the first week of classes always a pain in the ass to get through, but coupled with his current issue with Youngjae, his energy has drained to the absolute minimum. “Could’ve been worse,” is his answer, dry, and she lets out a giggle in agreement.

In all honesty, Daehyun wanted nothing more than to return to his apartment and sleep the rest of the afternoon away, but he has practice later and _Nahyun_ …well, he promised her he would see her today. He couldn’t bring himself to cancel this little meeting with her no matter how tired he was, and he already felt bad for ditching her over the weekend.

_And for what?_

Daehyun feels a weight on his shoulder as Nahyun settles into his side, head snug against his arm. Her smile is filled with affection, soft as she peers up at him through her long lashes. _She’s wearing makeup today,_ Daehyun notices. Her lips are _pink_ , and the essence of a little café bell ringing enters his mind just as quickly as it exits. His stare falls to the coffee in his hands, his grip around its circumference tightening ever so slightly.

“At least this week is almost over,” she says. “I can’t wait to sleep in this weekend.” Her smile is warm, playful as she slips her hand into his, slowly locking their fingers together in the way she’s done for years now. She really does have a pretty smile, one that many of her admirers liked to point out to Daehyun, one that Daehyun wishes he had the energy to return.

She waits for his reply. She waits for an invitation.

It’s one he isn’t ready to give.

“Yeah,” Daehyun murmurs. He takes another sip. 

They’ve known each other for years now, have been dating for almost one, and Nahyun has always been one of the few people Daehyun thought life would be boring without. She’s comfortable, she’s familiar, she makes him laugh and reassures him when he falters. They were similar in their likes and dislikes, dreams and other habits. Daehyun knows her, knows how selfless she really is, how undeserving _he_ really is.

Things have been changing between them. Inescapable things, no matter how much Daehyun tries to tell himself otherwise. 

“I’ve missed you,” Nahyun says when Daehyun doesn’t offer her anymore, a pretty pout sitting on her lips. “I haven’t seen you since Sunday night.”

Daehyun swallows. Nahyun hadn’t brought up that night the entire week, and for some laughable reason Daehyun thought that maybe she’d forgotten about it. There’s something unspoken in her words despite the innocent musing, the unspoken he had been deliberately avoiding. The memory alone brings him discomfort, but he tries to smother it with a brief cough.

She was bound to bring it up eventually.

“Did you get to work alright?” he asks her, only because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah, and a friend drove me back afterwards.” She smiles at him again, but something in her eyes shifts. “How did your grocery trip go?”

Daehyun stares back at her for a moment before looking away, his free hand playing with the rim of his cup. “Fine,” he answers. “Felt a lot better with food in the fridge.”

Nahyun merely hums, a hollow sound that vibrates through the air. Daehyun’s gaze falls to their hands, to the way her thumb traces little circles over Daehyun’s skin. It reminds him of the way her fingers danced across his thigh as he drove her to his apartment that weekend, the little sigh she breathed as she settled against the door, her slim leg wrapping around his hip and pulling him _closer._

But even then she didn’t push. She _doesn’t_ push, she never does – it’s almost _frustrating._

_Just say it,_ Daehyun finds himself pleading. _Just ask me why I’ve been avoiding you._

It’s getting harder and harder to play this act. Harder and harder to _lie_ to her over and over again.

“I’m glad,” she says.

Sometimes Daehyun wishes Nahyun wasn’t so patient with him.

“Do you want to come over later?” she asks him next, simple in her offer. She gazes at him once more, searching for his despite the way he turns away. Daehyun doesn’t need to see her to understand the look Nahyun is giving him. He hears it in her intonation, _feels_ it from the way she touches him. They’ve been playing this game of push and pull for a long time now, only Daehyun is running out of excuses to pull away.

But he can’t help it.

“I have practice until 7,” Daehyun answers, voice low enough that only she could hear it, and for a second he feels ashamed with himself. This predicament is his own – he _knows_ he has no one to blame but himself. She deserves more than empty answers and brittle excuses.

_“After,_ then?”

She places her other hand on his upper arm, her nails lightly dragging against the skin beneath his sleeve. Plenty of people would not hesitate in his position, but plenty of people have something to hide. In that way, he is no different from most.

He doesn’t look at her. He can’t bring himself to without feeling the same guilt he feels every time she shows him her affection. “I can’t.” And he still doesn’t look at her. He _can’t_ because he absolutely _hates_ the waver in her eyes every time he rejects her little advances.

How he _wishes_ she wasn’t so patient with him.

There’s a pause, but Nahyun doesn’t push. She never does after Daehyun’s given her his answer. She straightens instead, pulling away slightly as her hands leave Daehyun to instead brush her hair back, long dark locks carefully tucked behind the shell of her ears.

“Okay.”

Daehyun closes his eyes.

_Ask me why._

She’s too nice to him, and Daehyun knows he doesn’t deserve it.

_Ask me why I keep saying ‘no.’_

“I’m sorry,” Daehyun murmurs, but the words begin to lose their meaning the more they’re used. _Overused._

Inevitably, he thinks of Youngjae. Of the anger, the sadness, _wronged_ by someone who is meant to be trusted.

_You’re an awfully apologetic person._

He was right.

Nahyun does not offer anything in return to his apology, but he can feel her eyes on him.

He wonders what kind of person she thinks he is. He wonders what she would think if she knew the truth. 

-

Youngjae wakes up with a start, eyes wide as he quickly sits up to take in his surroundings. He’s in the apartment, on the couch, still dressed in the clothes he had worn all day, and his phone is buzzing incessantly on the coffee table. The time on his phone reads 7:20 PM. What was supposed to be a 30-minute nap became 2 hours, apparently.

_Figures._ Youngjae pouts to himself as he picks his phone up, but his expression immediately brightens when he sees the contact name. Then it dims when he realizes how many unread messages he has from said contact name.

‘ _thanks for waking me up jongup,’_ Youngjae types, briefly skimming over Jongup’s previous messages and gathering what he had missed. Not much, if Youngjae is being completely honest. Just Jongup musing about his latest project, and while Youngjae is always willing to support his best friend, he never knows what the hell he’s talking about.

Jongup’s reply is almost instant.

_is that sarcasm?_

Youngjae snorts, pulling his knee socks back up into place. _‘sadly, no.’_

_were classes really that bad today or_

_‘theyre always bad but i also never sleep so really this is prob my fault’_

_probably_

Youngjae sneers, continuing to mindlessly adjust pieces of his outfit even as he sits alone in the apartment. _‘what do you want anyways?? you know im not good with art stuff so asking for my opinion wont help’_

_sometimes it does._

_but fine if you want to keep pretending you don’t understand art. how has your week been?_

_‘im not pretending’_

_‘also hell’_

_damn. what happened_

_‘its a whole lot of everything’_

_‘you know the usual’_

_‘assholes’_

_‘and also stress’_

_‘and also stressful assholes’_

_was it whatshisface again?_

_‘it almost always is!!! you would think that after all this time he would leave me the hell alone!!!!!’_

_were you alone?_

Youngjae hesitates. He thinks of the bus stop he waits at every day after classes are over, a small and rusty thing behind a parking garage on campus. No one is ever there. Sometimes the solitude is comforting, other times it’s nothing but a _trap_.

_‘no i had mikyong with me but honestly not that much happened.’_ He gently tugs his sleeve back down to his wrists – he had enough reminders of other incidents. Things that happen outside of the public eye are things he’d rather keep to himself. _‘wish he’d give up tho’_

_i'll dropkick him_

_i may be 30 min away but i will dropkick him_

_‘thanks’_

It’s genuine. Jongup was always good at bringing a smile to Youngjae’s face even in the midst of his pain. He wishes there were more people like Jongup in the world, more people who weren’t afraid to show that they cared.

_what about daehyun?_

Youngjae grimaces. Just as he praises him, Jongup unknowingly decides to flip every word onto their heads. _What about him?_ Youngjae wonders bitterly to himself. Sure, Youngjae’s been giving Jongup vague updates about his situation with his roommate, but that doesn’t mean Jongup had the right to ask about them out of nowhere like that.

(Youngjae doesn’t mean that, of course. Jongup can ask whatever he wants. The privilege only a best friend can have, Youngjae supposes.)

_‘i dont wanna talk about it’_

_wow_

_that bad?_

_‘no’_

_‘just fake’_

There’s a pause, a little wave of an ellipsis flashing and disappearing before he receives Jongup’s next message.

_do you need a break? some old friends are throwing a thing later tonight_

Youngjae inhales, glancing back at his abandoned school bag by the couch. He does have a few hours to get some work done, and it _is_ the weekend after all… _Honestly?_ Youngjae could use a drink or two to clear his mind, and if he does manage to be productive for the next few hours, he could consider this little rendezvous a reward.

_‘god yes’_

_pick you up at 11?_

_‘_ ♡ _’_

Youngjae gazes at his phone for just a few seconds more, waiting to see if Jongup had anything else left to say. When nothing comes up, he scrolls through Jongup’s messages again before moving to his inbox to see if there is anything else he had missed during his nap. The emptiness of the apartment seems to surround him as he browses, _vulnerable_ even here.

Unopened texts from his ex-boyfriend inanimately stare back at him. Youngjae’s finger hovers over the familiar name, a sudden chill rippling down his spine. Strange how a name that once brought him so much _joy_ can bring him so much _grief_ in the present. It’s hard to comprehend the dynamic nature of a memory.

If Youngjae allows his imagination to wander, he can pick out every moment that made his heart race, loving touches and caring gestures, sweet promises that were meant to last a lifetime. Wrapped in pretty little ribbons, as if every fight they ever shared were nothing more than specks of dust among a bouquet of roses. It’s tempting, tempting to _compare_ , to wonder if the heartache ever outweighed the flutters, to wonder if Youngjae made the right choice by ending things the way he did. 

_Don’t do this to yourself,_ but a part of Youngjae aches to hear his voice again.

A rough sigh escapes him as he drops his phone and sets his head in his hands.

_Just when did I become this pathetic?_

It’s been _months._ But no matter how much Youngjae tells himself he deserves better he simply can’t bring himself to believe it.

Even after everything _he_ had done, even after all of their fights, Youngjae still craves his touch no matter how fleeting and demanding. The sad truth is that Youngjae had never felt more _wanted_ than he did when they were still together.

_Don’t do this to yourself,_ he pleads again. But the mind is a cruel place, and the memories flood the empty space that surrounds him, deep with yearning to be held by another’s arms once more. 

-

Daehyun remembers being 16 years old with nothing much on his mind but the next quiz he’d have to study for and what kind of dinner his mother might cook for them in the evening. He had his first job at this age, a simple summer thing as a lifeguard at a local pool. Nothing exciting ever happened during those days, most rescues only false alarms that did nothing more than give him an excuse to get out of the sweltering heat of his chair. 

He still remembers his boss and some of his coworkers. Names may leave him but faces never do, and there is one face in particular that still manages to linger in the periphery of his mind. He was his age, quiet with a humor of his own. Daehyun often found himself lost in casual conversation with this boy, hot summer days winding by as the two spoke about their lives, separated from their usual routines, their usual circles.

It was almost like being anonymous, this relationship they shared. _Safe_ because they both knew they’d never meet outside of this little job, _safe_ because they could tell each other anything without fear of their social consequences.

Sometimes Daehyun misses those days. Slow days filled with the smell of chlorine and the drizzle of splashing water. Simple days filled with a pair of sunglasses and the cool breeze of the morning. Quiet days filled with small, secretive smiles and a company he has yet to forget.

Fragments of such memories linger in his mind even now as he fumbles with the keys to his apartment. He was 16 back then with nothing much on his mind – when Daehyun remembers those days it’s out of yearning, or perhaps out of _jealousy_ of a time when he was far less self-deprecating, far more ignorant of the reality around him. The memories seem to resonate the loudest when he’s in any sort of pain – physical, mental, _physical._ The drills during practice today seemed to have beaten the rest of Daehyun’s strength from his body. He wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed.

But when he opens the door, he finally finds himself in Youngjae’s presence again.

They both seem to share the same breath of surprise.

His roommate looks like a deer in the headlights, mouth agape, hair harrowed, and eyeshadow smudged unnaturally. For a second Daehyun feels as if he’s intruding, but he quickly gathers his bearings and allows the door to close behind him. 

_Now is his chance._

“Youngjae…” Daehyun breaks their silence, cutting through the tension of the apartment as he takes a careful step forward. _I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I want to talk to you. We need to talk –_ He has a million ways of saying this one phrase, but the sight of Youngjae’s blotched eyeshadow pulls the words from his throat without his own control, “Have you been…crying?”

Daehyun almost panics, but his concern takes its hold, the mere thought of Youngjae crying alone in this apartment filling him with a sort of pain he can’t quite describe.

Youngjae seems confused by Daehyun’s question until he glances down at his phone, catching a glimpse of his reflection and touching his stained skin. “N-No…” he denies with a quick shake of his head, swiping away at the pigment around his eyes with his fingers. “I just…I took a nap and…” He clears his throat, a light shade of pink coating his cheeks as he turns away from Daehyun’s stare.

Daehyun isn’t quite sure if he believes him, but Youngjae is already moving to leave, giving Daehyun no time to ponder it further. “Wait.” Daehyun tosses his gym bag to the side before turning to face Youngjae’s wary glare once more. “Can…can we talk?”

Youngjae doesn’t try to mask his hesitation, clear discomfort in his expression. A moment passes before he quietly takes a seat back on the couch, hands placed stiffly on his lap. Daehyun’s lips part ever so slightly, a bit surprised by how… _easy_ that was as he carefully makes his way over to join his roommate’s side.

He finds it a bit difficult to breathe as he sits next to Youngjae, gaze trailing up Youngjae’s striped socks before stopping just where they meet the skin of his thighs. Daehyun quickly clears his throat and forces himself to meet Youngjae’s eyes, offering him a small smile in the hopes of alleviating some of the awkwardness between them.

When Youngjae doesn’t move or say anything on his own, Daehyun decides that there’s no point in small talk or fluff. “I wanted to apologize to you,” he begins, “for what happened on Monday.”

Youngjae’s fingers play with the hem of his sleeve. “I don’t really want to talk about this—”

“Please,” Daehyun breathes, almost _begging,_ the tone of his voice enough to press Youngjae’s lips together. “I know you probably think I don’t mean it but I _really_ do. I know I messed up and I don’t want to make up any excuses…so really, I’m _sorry.”_

“I don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” Youngjae answers, unwilling to fully match Daehyun’s gaze. “I was an idiot to expect anything from you. We just met and you don’t owe me anything, after all. Probably nothing compared to your friendship with Jihoon.”

Daehyun grimaces. “Teammate,” he corrects him, scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly. “He’s…a teammate, not a friend. We were meeting as a team before our first practice, just as a little reunion, bonding thing. If I’m being completely honest I’ve never really talked to Jihoon much before. I’ve always found him a bit… _abrasive_ …”

Youngjae scoffs, a hint of fatigue in his tone. “Shocking.” 

Daehyun bites his lip. “…And even though we just met, I still made an ass of myself for not doing anything at all. We’re roommates now, which means I at least owe you my full respect, both inside _and_ outside of this apartment.”

Youngjae does not reply, so Daehyun continues, “I really should have said something at least. Said something to Jihoon or—”

“You really didn’t have to,” Youngjae utters. “I’m used to people like him.”

_Him,_ Daehyun thinks, but from his intonation Daehyun knows he really means _you._

Daehyun’s chest begins to aches, and he wonders how something so visceral can feel so debilitating. “I promise you I won’t let it happen again.” 

Youngjae looks at him, quiet and impassive, almost as if he’s trying to read Daehyun’s inner thoughts, searching for a bluff through unwavering pupils. Daehyun can’t decipher the expression Youngjae gives him, but he decides to keep his mouth shut, opting to respect whatever Youngjae decides to say next.

“You don’t need to promise me anything,” Youngjae tells him, and the air around him changes. For the first time since the beginning of the week, Youngjae gives him a small smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Daehyun’s heart immediately speeds at the sight. “But…thank you, Daehyun. I’ll admit I didn’t like the way things were between us, so I’m just relieved that it’s over, I guess. This and all that happened on Monday.”

“Really?” Daehyun didn’t mean to sound so eager, and his face instantly warms when Youngjae’s surprised stare melts into a little laugh.

“Yeah, really,” Youngjae says, gaze soft, _sweet_ as he speaks, and it reminds Daehyun of the warm comfort of hot cocoa. “I hope that things stay okay between us from now on.”

“Definitely.” Daehyun releases a breath of relief. “You don’t know how nervous I was that you weren’t going to forgive me.”

Youngjae tilts his head in interest. “Do I look that harsh?”

“N-No, not at all,” Daehyun quickly denies, feeling a bit foolish when Youngjae lets out another simper at his expense. “I mean, Jihoon was being an ass and I know how he is so even _I_ thought I should have known better than to just leave—”

“Trust me, Daehyun, I’ve definitely dealt with worse than you…and even him,” Youngjae says, but before Daehyun can even fully register his words, he’s picking up his things and getting up from the couch. “Anyways, I’m going out later so I’m going to study while I still have time. Thank you again, Daehyun.”

“I – uh – yeah – okay.” Daehyun gives Youngjae a little wave, one that Youngjae doesn’t even see because he’s already entering his room, leaving Daehyun alone on the couch. Something strange seems to have transpired, and it’s in the silence that Youngjae’s absence leaves that Daehyun finally realizes what Youngjae had said.

_I’ve definitely dealt with worse than you…_

_…and even him._

He wonders why the apartment feels colder than usual.

-

Daehyun was also 16 around the time he first met Nahyun. She was a bright girl, like a bundle of sunshine with a smile prettier than any other. They were in the same class – seatmates, in fact – and for one reason or another, Daehyun and Nahyun always seemed to naturally gravitate towards one another. Perhaps it was her naturally social personality or how well they always got along during partner projects, or maybe it was how stubbornly polite Daehyun always was. Whatever it was, Daehyun found a close friend in Nahyun, now unable to picture of life without her bright smile.

It wasn’t until he was 18 that Nahyun finally confessed to him. _Shocked_ was the first emotion Daehyun had felt, because he truly hadn’t expected the girl he believed to be one of his best friends to have any such feelings for him. Then _confusion,_ because Daehyun really didn’t know how to react. He had felt bad when he told her he simply did not know, and it took _months_ later before Daehyun finally decided that maybe this was the right thing. Maybe he should say _yes._

His parents were more excited about their relationship than Daehyun was himself. They liked Nahyun – she wasn’t anything like the girls Daehyun’s brother brought home, and they thought it was about time Daehyun started exploring the dating world.

But truthfully, Daehyun didn’t like Nahyun the same way she liked him. While he was used to her presence in his life, he liked her at a reasonable distance. Having her so close wasn’t exactly an unwelcomed experience, but neither could he say it felt right. They were _friends_ first. To Daehyun, she still feels that way.

It frustrated him for a while. Or perhaps it still frustrates him, because every time Daehyun looks at Nahyun and sees the most perfect girl in the world, he still fails to see her as anything more than a good friend. He takes her out on dates, he kisses her when she asks him to, he’s there for her like any normal boyfriend would be, but it isn’t out of love or any affection greater than friendship. It’s out of obligation, and it’s a frustrating feeling.

Daehyun wonders if Nahyun notices. Her feelings for him are wholehearted, so why wouldn’t she be able to tell that Daehyun’s own fall short? She’s never confronted him about it, but whenever Daehyun meets her eyes he can’t help but feel incredibly _guilty._ Like she knows Daehyun is trying, like she knows Daehyun doesn’t love her.

Like she knows Daehyun _can’t_ love her.

He tries. He really does try. Every moment Daehyun spends with her, he tells himself that he will fall for the girl who has stayed by his side all this time.

But it’s hard. It’s _so_ hard when his heart begins beating for someone else. Someone who isn’t _anything_ like the girl his parents had always wanted for him.

Daehyun swallows as he holds a hand against his chest, feeling it tumble as if it’s never known a rhythm like this before. Daehyun isn’t stupid, he’s felt this way in the past, also at 16, also around that _boy_ from those summer days under the sun, where no amount of deep breaths and shallow shrugs could wipe away the endless drumming of his heart. Little laughs and little secrets, _so many secrets._

_“It’s lonely, isn’t it?”_

_“What is?”_

The boy had given Daehyun a smile that seemed to hold more behind it than he let on. _“To be surrounded by people who claim to love you but don’t know a single thing about you.”_

Daehyun was young, young enough to understand the implications but also young enough to fear his own answer. _“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_ It was always easier to deny.

The boy’s smile hadn’t changed. _“I’m lonely, too,”_ he had whispered. _Close,_ he was so close, and Daehyun felt the heat of his breath before the softness of his lips met his own, _chaste_ but in it lingered something Daehyun hadn’t fully realized he had been craving. He _chased_ it, the rush that filled his veins, his thoughts thinning into nothing the instant he kissed him back.

And then they parted, and it was in that moment that Daehyun finally understood what had just happened, _what it had all meant_ , what his heart was beating for all this time. And just like that his stomach dropped, like every lock he’d placed around the unspoken depths of his mind had shattered into pieces.

There was a difference between dreaming and reality, and it was in those fragile minutes that Daehyun learned the meaning of the latter.

The boy had only smiled. Traces of sadness were laced into the laugh he exhaled. _“I knew it.”_

Daehyun hadn’t known back then, but that day was the last he’d ever see that boy again. It wasn’t even a week later that Daehyun found out he had been sent to another town by his parents. The same parents who he soon discovered attended the very same church Daehyun’s own parents adored.

Now, he thinks of Youngjae, and how every little beat of his heart feels dangerously close to that summer haze.

-

A knocking coming from the front door of their apartment has Daehyun looking up from his desk in his room, from the work he was supposed to be doing. Another heavy knock, and Daehyun glances at the clock, confusion set in his brow when he sees how late it already is. He gets up, leaving his room and carefully making his way to the front door.

When he opens it, he’s greeted with the sight of leather – _lots of it –_ and sapphire blue hair.

“Hello,” the stranger says, but Daehyun is too stunned by the sight of tattoos on his neck to say anything back. “You are Daehyun, right?”

“Um…” Daehyun shifts uncomfortably, briefly making sure his grip on the door is solid enough before saying, “Do I know…you?”

“No,” the stranger answers plainly, unblinking, as if this exchange isn’t at all awkward to him like it is to Daehyun.

When the stranger doesn’t say anything more, Daehyun attempts to navigate his brain for the politest way to reject this stranger’s visit until he hears a voice behind his shoulder.

“It’s Jongup, isn’t it?” Daehyun turns, and Youngjae blinks back at him.

“Jongup?” Daehyun repeats in confusion, but before he can react, Youngjae is opening the door wider, gesturing for the blue-haired stranger to enter the apartment. _Oh._ Daehyun realizes. _That’s Jongup._

Youngjae’s arms are crossed over his chest, an accusatory glare fixed on their strange visitor. “You said something weird, didn’t you?”

Jongup raises his hands in defense. “All I said was hello.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes. “Sure.” He brushes his hair back and turns to address Daehyun once more, a thin smile on his rouge lips. “Anyways, we’re heading out for the night. I’ll be back in a few hours or so.”

_Heading out?_ Right, Youngjae had mentioned something like that earlier, and it is Friday after all. As Daehyun puts two and two together he finally notices Youngjae’s outfit for the evening, his roommate dressed in a sheer top that did little to hide his skin and figure underneath, obscured only by little star-like sequins that littered the translucent fabric. His pants were tight, a velvet black that hugged his already slender legs in a way that left little to the imagination. A bold red ribbon circles his neck, clasped together by a single metal ring. Whatever Daehyun had been thinking of prior to this has is lost within the heat that rises to his head.

“Uh, cool,” he manages to say, averting his gaze as if such a thing could help him in this situation. “Have fun.”

Youngjae hums, securing his purse over his shoulder with a little nod. “Thanks. Have a good night, Daehyun.” He then beckons Jongup over with a simple curl of his finger, his nails still that familiar baby pink that Daehyun has grown used to seeing on him, but the enticing way they glimmer under the lights has Daehyun’s breath catching in his throat.

Jongup follows obediently, a leathered arm slipping effortlessly around Youngjae’s waist, hand settling just as easily on his left hip. Daehyun catches a glimpse of a smile on Youngjae’s lips just as the door closes behind them, and with a resounding _click_ Daehyun is left alone in their little apartment with his racing heart and a curious chill in his veins.

He swallows as he moves to sit down on the nearest chair, head beginning to ache from how hard he’s been frowning. He’s abysmal, somehow, mind unable to release the sight of Jongup’s hand on Youngjae’s hip from its repetitive clutch.

-

Youngjae can feel Jongup’s eyes on him every time the latter glances over, feel it even as Youngjae keeps his stare out the car window, attention barely hanging onto the blur of buildings that glide by them. It’s a quiet night for a Friday, or maybe Youngjae is simply too tired to really notice the normal excitement that accompanies neon lights. A low sigh escapes him.

“Eyes on the road, Moon Jongup.”

“They are.”

Youngjae snorts. “Am I really so distracting that you have to look at me every few seconds?”

“You know I’m perfectly capable of ignoring you no matter how distracting you are,” Jongup answers drily, slowing the car to a stop as the light before them turns red. “But you’re acting weird tonight.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know,” Jongup says. “I just know that you don’t seem like yourself right now.”

Youngjae smiles bitterly to himself. Jongup had always been good at reading him, even during their high school days when they were nothing more than strangers on two opposite ends of the hall. While Youngjae was out-casted by his classmates, Jongup was an outcast by choice. He spent most days in the art room, lost in projects that nobody but he could ever understand. But Jongup didn’t care for explanations about his work, about himself or anything else. His refusal to entertain those curious about his obscure tastes were what led to his seclusion. Most of their schoolmates thought that it was easier to leave Jongup alone in his musings rather than to question him on his choices.

To this day Youngjae still does not know how they became friends, what about him had fascinated Jongup the way he had. Whatever it was, no matter how many times Youngjae had tried to brush him away or deny his little questions, Jongup always saw right through every single one of his defensive lies, and eventually he pulled Youngjae’s secrets right apart.

Not that it was a bad thing. Youngjae finds it much easier to talk to someone like Jongup, someone without a care for boundaries or conventions.

“Daehyun apologized to me,” Youngjae confesses, and Jongup glances back at him in interest, Youngjae’s rather dismissive answer from their texts earlier resurfacing with the truth. “I let him. But I still don’t know if I believe him.”

Jongup glances back at the traffic light ahead of them. “What did he do?”

Youngjae does not answer at first, too busy recalling the way Daehyun had looked at him earlier when he had apologized, and then the way Daehyun had looked at him as he and Jongup were leaving. For a moment, Youngjae wishes he had Jongup’s talents when it came to reading people, because if there was one thing Youngjae knew for sure about this all, it was that he had absolutely _no idea_ what Daehyun felt about him.

“Ugh,” Youngjae groans out loud, his temples throbbing in his effort to understand his roommate’s unspoken habit of staring at him. “Nothing. Literally. When Jihoon came to bother me earlier this week Daehyun had been there, too, but he literally did nothing. Seeing that put me in a sour mood that day, I guess, especially because just hours before Daehyun had said all this crap about being good roommates to each other or something. I don’t know.” Youngjae purses his lips, the faint taste of matte making him grimace. “That’s what he apologized for. For doing nothing.”

The light turns green and Jongup pushes the car back into drive, the rumbling sound of the old engine providing a rhythm that Youngjae tries to concentrate on for the sake of maintaining his own sanity. “Well, what’s there not to believe?” Jongup asks him next, and Youngjae eyes him from his place in the passenger’s seat, wondering how he can ask such a complicated question so _easily._

“I don’t know,” Youngjae answers after a moment, brows pulled together in a frown of frustration. “I don’t know what it is about him that’s making me so – making _this_ so difficult.”

“Making _what_ so difficult?”

Youngjae’s gaze trails over to the window by his side again, to the streetlights and their repetitive cones of light, silent but looming under the night sky. Such ominous witnesses.

“Trusting him,” Youngjae finally admits, and he sees Daehyun among a crowd of blank faces, sees the way he blends in as easily as everyone else. It’s strange how different they really are. But that isn’t the strangest thing about Daehyun. Youngjae swallows. “It isn’t that he’s _hard_ to trust, it’s really that he’s so… _easy_ to trust, and that’s what’s making _everything_ so much more difficult.”

“Is it so bad that he’s easy to trust?” Jongup questions in that way that only Jongup can. Sometimes Youngjae wishes Jongup would use more expression in his voice, _something_ that would humanize the way he speaks so Youngjae didn’t have to feel like his insecurities were being challenged with every word.

“Yes,” Youngjae tells him. “The more you trust someone, the worse they can hurt you.” Admitting it out loud is like a slap to the face. His mind taunts him with the love he once drowned in, with the man he trusted more than he trusted even himself. Youngjae truly wonders how his own memories could be so cruel.

“That only applies if you’re quick to hand out trust,” Jongup says. “And knowing you, you aren’t.”

Youngjae looks at him, lost and unable to deny Jongup’s words nor find any to respond with. He’s always had trust issues, something he has learned with years and years of mistakes. But Daehyun is different, _Youngjae admits it,_ but _how_ he is different is still beyond him. There is still so much Youngjae doesn’t know about Daehyun, so much he has yet to find out, and these unknowns should terrify him – _they usually do._ But for some reason with Daehyun, _they don’t._

“The thing is, I _want_ to trust him even though he hasn’t really given me a reason to,” Youngjae quietly confesses. “It’s like a part of me wants to promise me that he’s _safe,_ that I don’t need to worry about him, that he won’t try to hurt me like the rest of them. I’ve never felt that way about _anyone_ before…I…” He bites his lip, the memory of Daehyun’s wonderstruck stare from their first meeting in the café sending his thoughts into complete and utter disarray. _“I don’t understand him.”_

Jongup doesn’t say anything at first, quiet long enough that Youngjae almost wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. He feels like an idiot, an idiot who is only looking for reasons to shut himself in simply because he’s used to it.

Such a confusing predicament. Youngjae feels dizzy just thinking about it.

“There’s no point in fighting how you feel,” Jongup finally says, and Youngjae blinks in surprise. “If you trust Daehyun, you shouldn’t try to fight it. It must mean he’s a good person.”

“I trusted my ex,” Youngjae flatly states, nearly clasping a hand over his own mouth at the abruptness of his cold words, but he allows it to fall back to his lap. “I trusted him, and we both know how that turned out.”

Jongup does not seem as concerned. “Is Daehyun anything like your ex?”

“I…” Youngjae does not know how to respond. “I don’t know yet.”

Jongup hums in understanding. “Then give it time. Give _him_ time. You don’t have to trust him yet if it really bothers you, but remember that he actually apologized for what he did.” Youngjae’s heart skips a beat. “That’s already one thing he did that your ex-boyfriend didn’t.”

The engine fills the silence that settles between them once more, Youngjae too stunned by the reality of Jongup’s word to even make a sound. He almost feels breathless, his heart racing as if fighting its own battle within his chest. Youngjae’s skin flushes, and he tries to smother it against the cool glass of the car window, dazed as he finds his own gaze in the side view mirror.

The charcoal that lines his eyes give them a shape that is sharper than his natural appearance. His fingers graze over the ribbon around his neck, tracing the metal ring that shines beneath the moonlight.

It’s fleeting, but a part of Youngjae wonders if Daehyun would ever trust him, too. 

-

The light flickers just enough to draw Daehyun’s attention away from his book, his glare now trained on his desk lamp as if the object would somehow sense his annoyance. He glances down at the page number before him and sighs when he realizes how little he has actually progressed. _A break,_ he thinks, _I probably need a break._

So Daehyun pushes himself from his desk, standing to stretch his arms over his head before heading out of his room for a change of setting. The smell of coffee brewing diffuses through the air, permeating his senses with a craving for its taste as his feet take him to the kitchen.

His eyes widen when he sees Youngjae standing there, dressed in his baggy sweater and shorts, pouring the freshly made coffee into two separate mugs. For a second Daehyun nearly turns around, far too unprepared to deal with the dwellings in his heart, but Daehyun stops himself when Youngjae notices him, his roommate’s eyes lighting up in a way that has his breath hitching in his throat.

“Taking a break?” Youngjae asks him, and it’s the knowing tone in his voice that makes Daehyun blink in confusion. Youngjae’s smile is accentuated by the rose on his cheeks, and he holds out a steaming mug for Daehyun to take. “I made this for you. Thought it might help you study.”

“Uh…” Daehyun’s hands slowly circle the hot drink. “Thanks.”

Youngjae only smiles again, blowing at his own mug before holding a hand out expectantly. Daehyun only stares at him, and when he doesn’t move, Youngjae lets out an amused huff. His hand brushes down Daehyun’s arm, tantalizing like the glimmer in his eyes, and he slips their fingers together so naturally it almost feels like he’s done so for _years_. Daehyun’s heart nearly chokes him with the force at which it pounds, Youngjae’s touch etching embers into his palm.

“Come on, let’s relax for a bit,” is all Youngjae says as he tugs him towards the couch. He sets his mug down carefully on the coffee table, and Daehyun, too stunned by what is happening to act on his own will, does the same. They sit, Youngjae scooting closer despite the way Daehyun stiffens, and it’s in that moment that Youngjae seems to notice his odd behavior. “Are you okay?” he asks him, genuine concern in his voice, in his eyes, those _eyes_ that stare so _intimately_ into Daehyun’s own.

“Y-Yeah,” Daehyun finds himself saying, unused to their current proximity, overwhelmed by the sensation of Youngjae’s hand in his.

Youngjae tilts his head, giving Daehyun a look that voices it for him: _really?_

Daehyun gives him a nervous smile. “Really.”

This time Youngjae decides his answer is good enough. He leans his head onto Daehyun’s shoulder, arms wrapping around Daehyun’s own as he snuggles even closer. His hair is soft as it brushes against Daehyun’s jaw, and everything about this position fills Daehyun with a warmth he has never experienced before, a warmth that leaves his head feeling strangely _light_.

“Thinking hard there, Jung Daehyun?” Youngjae asks him suddenly, teasing like before, and Daehyun finds himself enchanted by his voice.

“Yeah,” is all he allows himself to say again.

Youngjae giggles, moving to look into Daehyun’s eyes. “About what?”

He’s breathless. “You.”

Youngjae blinks in surprise, but he quickly melts into a sweet smile, eyes softened with affection as a hand reaches up to brush through Daehyun’s hair. His fingers linger at the back, gentle as his nails lightly brush against the nape of Daehyun’s neck. A pull, and Youngjae’s lips are a breath from his. Daehyun’s own stops at once.

Daehyun jolts awake at the sound of rough pounding at the door outside. His heart stammers frantically in his chest, deafening as it attempts to ground itself back into reality, his fingers gripping onto his sheets with the same sentiment. _Breathless,_ he struggles to meet every inhale with an even exhale, stare blurry in the edges but frantic all the same as it darts from one part of the ceiling to the other.

It hits him all at once.

_Was that a…was that a dream?_

His skin flushes as he recalls pink lips against his own.

The door pounds again, pulling Daehyun from his trance, and he thoughtlessly gets up to answer it. He’s clumsy in the dark, clumsier finding the light switch for the living room. When the apartment fills with light Daehyun’s eyes automatically squint and water from the bright pervasion. He blinks to readjust, and with a few deep breaths, he opens the front door.

Before him stands that blue-haired stranger from before, neck tattoos and all, with a body slung unglamorously over his shoulder.

Daehyun rubs at his eyes as if that would somehow make this sight any less confusing. It’s _Jongup,_ the name returns to him, and Daehyun belatedly (and bewilderedly) realizes that the body Jongup is holding belongs to the roommate of his dreams himself.

Jongup is staring at him expectantly, but Daehyun isn’t sure if there is a word he can even say in a situation like this. He’s caught between staring back at Jongup and at Youngjae’s…behind. 

The silence breaks when Youngjae suddenly squirms under Jongup’s arm, and the sounds of Youngjae smacking Jongup’s back can be heard in the otherwise empty hall. “Stupid Jongup, I told you it hurts when you carry me around like this!”

Jongup actually flinches, his free hand reaching up to steady Youngjae’s flailing body. “And I told you it hurts when you smack me like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would just let me go!”

“Okay.”

And just like that Jongup drops Youngjae onto the floor, Daehyun backing up in surprise as Youngjae collapses by his feet.

When Youngjae doesn’t move, Daehyun slowly looks back up, meeting Jongup’s rather apathetic eyes.

“He’s drunk,” is all Jongup says.

Daehyun can only nod.

“I have to be somewhere tomorrow morning, so I can’t take care of himself myself,” Jongup continues. Youngjae lets out a loud groan, to which Jongup doesn’t even flinch. “Sorry.”

“I…um…” Daehyun watches as Youngjae struggles to get off of the floor, clearly too dizzy to pinpoint the location of his own feet. Both Daehyun and Jongup bend down to help the drunken mess back up. Jongup eases Youngjae onto Daehyun’s weight, Daehyun quick to wrap an arm around Youngjae’s waist in an effort to keep him from falling again. Daehyun can feel the heat of Youngjae’s skin even through his thin shirt. For a moment, he almost feels dizzy himself. “T-Thanks…”

“Don’t thank me,” Jongup says next, and when Daehyun gives him a look of confusion, the blue-haired stranger breaks his impassive stare to give him a look of pity. “Really, don’t thank me. A drunk Youngjae is only fun when you’re drunk, too. Otherwise, he’s _overwhelmingly_ annoying.”

“I am _not!”_ Youngjae whines, and he nearly startles Daehyun with how close his voice is, and if not for the alcohol permeating from his breath, Daehyun might have the gall to feel sheepish. “This isn’t even _so_ bad…I just need to sleep it all off…”

“Yeah, right,” Jongup utters. He shakes his head before addressing Daehyun once more, “Make sure he gets to bed alright. Otherwise he’ll whine all morning about how uncomfortable it was to sleep on the floor.”

“That happened _once!_ Only _once!_ Let it _go,_ Jongup!”

Jongup lets out another sigh, stepping away with a lazy wave of his hand. “Good luck,” is all he leaves Daehyun with, and before Daehyun can react, Jongup is already halfway down the hall.

Daehyun briefly wonders if their neighbors had heard all of this.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Daehyun closes the door and focuses his attention onto Youngjae, who to his alarm is staring at him rather intensely. A minute seems to pass with neither of them moving, locked in this stare that Daehyun does not dare to break. Youngjae suddenly reaches up, his fingers light as they trace a line along Daehyun’s jaw, and Daehyun forgets whatever shame he has as his skin burns for a completely different reason.

“You’ve got a pretty face, Daehyun, did anyone ever tell you that?” Youngjae asks him, and then his hand drops back to his side, his weight nearly pulling them both to the ground if not for Daehyun’s own reflexes. His face continues to burn, hotter now as he tries to comprehend Youngjae’s words.

_Pretty?_

Youngjae throws his head back. _“Sooo_ many people are pretty like you without even _trying!_ It’s _sooo_ unfair. I’m _sooo_ tired of having to try all the time.” He then seems to pause, abruptly turning to sniff at Daehyun’s neck for a second before meeting Daehyun’s eyes again. “You smell good, kind of like the way you did when you were walking all over the place without a shirt on that one morning.”

Daehyun swallows thickly, and he’s sure his entire chest is on fire. He had showered earlier, but the connection fills him with embarrassment. The knowledge that Youngjae definitely hasn’t forgotten that incident only makes it worse. His grip around Youngjae’s waist tightens slightly as he attempts to guide Youngjae towards his room. “Let’s, uh, let’s get you to bed like your boyfriend said.”

_“Boyfriend?”_ Youngjae repeats incredulously before letting out a string of giggles. He nearly falls again, his laughter wracking his body enough that Daehyun stumbles to the side. “You mean _Jongup?_ Oh, if he was my boyfriend I’d get dumped in an hour.” Youngjae snorts. “He isn’t into love or anything like that. So… _independent._ What a man.”

Daehyun lets out a nervous chuckle, though his shoulders seem to relax ever so slightly. “Well, uh—”

_“Plus!”_ Youngjae suddenly adds, “he wouldn’t want to deal with me like that.”

Daehyun pauses, brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

Youngjae doesn’t say anything for a second, a soft burp escaping his throat before he turns to stare at Daehyun again, hazy eyes struggling to focus. “Nothing,” he says. “Anyways, sorry if we woke you up. I _told_ Jongup I could handle this but he was like _bullshit.”_ Youngjae lets out a huff, pouting a bit with a frown that Daehyun finds rather adorable even through the smell of alcohol and slur of words. “Dealing with a drunk roommate probably wasn’t on your bucket list.” 

Daehyun’s gaze softens. “I don’t mind, Youngjae.” Normally, Daehyun is sure he would, but for some reason he can’t find it in himself to be irritated with this situation at all. Youngjae seems so unabashed, so… _at ease_ around him for once. For a moment, Daehyun feels his own guard loosen.

Youngjae’s mouth drops open in what Daehyun interprets as surprise before a dorky smile lifts his lips. “You know, Daehyun, you’re a hard guy to read,” he says, wagging a finger at Daehyun before stumbling again. Daehyun grunts a bit as he shifts to keep him up. “I guess pretty people are always hard to read.” Youngjae giggles. “Wish I was pretty like that. Then I would be hard to read, too.”

Daehyun looks at Youngjae for a second longer, words he wishes he could say lingering at the tip of his tongue. He shakes his head instead, urging Youngjae forward and to the door ahead of them. Youngjae complies this time, quiet as Daehyun opens his door, quiet even when Daehyun hesitates to enter.

The light from the living room floods into Youngjae’s room, providing Daehyun with the guide he needs. Youngjae’s room is, well, what Daehyun would have expected it to look like. Pink curtains, pink pillows, pink blankets, _everything_ that could be some shade of pink _is._ A few stuffed animals can be seen peeking from his pillows. It’s endearing somehow, and Daehyun bites back a smile as he eases Youngjae onto his soft bed.

Youngjae sinks into the pink comforters, flushed skin matching its shade. Youngjae hazily looks up, searching for something, and when he sees that Daehyun is still standing there, a lazy smile lights his face.

“Jongup lets me cuddle him when I’m drunk,” Youngjae says with his arms spread wide across the sheets. “Do me a favor?”

Daehyun’s eyes instantly widen.

“Just kidding!” Youngjae bursts into a bubbly laugh. Daehyun can only watch him in stupefied silence before the giggling boy settles down with a sigh of content. “Good night! Thanks for being the best roommate ever!”

And then his eyes close and Youngjae goes silent. When Daehyun is sure he is asleep, he slips out of the room and flees to the safety of his own. He hears his heartbeat before he feels it.

He pinches himself, and the sharp burn it produces promises him he isn’t dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehehe


	5. heat

Saturdays always feel like a breath of relief after a long and draining week. Daehyun had spent most of Friday night lying awake in bed, mind restraining him from the sweet release of _sleep_ as it jumped from one thing to another. Between his strange and oddly _vivid_ dream about Youngjae and the echo of Youngjae’s intoxicated confessions, Daehyun had found any attempts to fall asleep that Friday to be absolutely futile.

Daehyun doesn’t exactly remember _when_ his body decided to finally spare him and shut him down for the night, but he did wake up this morning in a relatively decent mood nonetheless. By the time he’s had his breakfast, Daehyun decides that today he just does _not_ have the patience to do any work. He pushes whatever he has to do today for _tomorrow,_ instead pulling his phone out and messaging Yongguk to see if he has the free time to hang out this afternoon. Daehyun hasn’t seen his best friend for an entire week now, and as soon as Yongguk agrees to meet, Daehyun knows that his Saturday plans to be as unproductive as possible have been settled.

He’s washing his dishes when he hears footsteps pad in behind him, and Daehyun glances back in time to see Youngjae stumble in, a hand on his forehead and his hair the most disheveled Daehyun has seen it yet. Youngjae squints through the daylight that bathes the kitchen and spares Daehyun a simple grumble of _“Good morning,”_ but his appearance speaks of anything but. 

Daehyun blinks, the image of Youngjae so unkempt and disoriented catching him off guard. Youngjae had at least changed into his regular sleepwear, but the unsteady sway of his legs and his inability to fully open his eyes tells Daehyun that this morning has not been very kind to Youngjae.

Youngjae looks like an absolute mess and smells _worse_ , too. While Daehyun should have expected this, Daehyun still feels a bit out-of-place, like he is crossing some sort of unspoken boundary by seeing Youngjae in such an unfavorable state. On the other hand, Youngjae appears to have no such reservations towards this peculiar dynamic as he wordlessly crosses the kitchen towards the fridge, paying Daehyun’s uncomfortable expression no mind.

The sound of the sink running behind him reminds Daehyun of the dishes he had been washing, and he turns back to finish them up, but a low groan from Youngjae’s throat catches his attention once more. “Are you feeling alright?” Daehyun asks as he glances back at his roommate, twisting the faucet shut behind him.

“Yeah…I’m alright…” Youngjae belatedly answers through a yawn and a slight grimace. “I just have a really bad headache.”

“There’s painkillers in the bathroom,” Daehyun tells him, watching with sympathy as Youngjae struggles to pour water into an empty cup. With his words Youngjae’s expression suddenly shifts, and the look Youngjae gives him, like Daehyun is an angel sent from above, almost makes Daehyun laugh.

“Thank you,” Youngjae says in a small, sincere voice, but a tinge of guilt has his lips curling into a pout. “And…I’m sorry about last night.” His eyes are laced with shame. “I guess I had a little more than I could handle.”

Oddly enough, Daehyun didn’t think he needed an apology from Youngjae. While dealing with him had been a little overwhelming, the experience was far from a nightmare – in fact, a quiet part of Daehyun had actually _liked_ it. To see Youngjae so relaxed around him, to hear his unbridled laughter and the unfiltered way in which he spoke had been humanizing in a way. It felt like a glimpse into the _real_ Youngjae, the Youngjae that hides behind shy smiles and pretty clothes.

“You’re fine, Youngjae,” Daehyun reassures him anyways, and Youngjae gives him a grateful look before turning away to take tentative sips from his glass.

The silence that settles between them afterwards gives Daehyun enough time to return to his dishes, the sound of the faucet running filling the small kitchen as he scrubs. Daehyun’s mind idly wanders to the night before, to the revelations that had kept him up for at least an hour or so in bed, unable to forget the way they’d made his heart race.

Youngjae had called him _pretty._ While Daehyun isn’t unfamiliar with compliments on his appearance from friends, family, and even complete strangers, hearing such a simple yet _enthralling_ word from Youngjae’s lips had been something else entirely. _Youngjae_ of all people thought _Daehyun_ was pretty. He almost couldn’t believe it.

But the part that bewildered Daehyun the most was the revelation that Youngjae did not seem to regard _himself_ in the same way.

_I’m so tired of having to try all the time,_ Youngjae had said, but Daehyun doesn’t think he has to. Like the day they first met, Daehyun continues to find every little thing about Youngjae absolutely _captivating._ Such a rare but distinctive characteristic, one that can only capture a fraction of Youngjae’s essence. Yet it’s evident to Daehyun that Youngjae doesn’t see himself in the same light.

_You should have said it back,_ Daehyun scolds himself. The impulse had definitely been there. His own reservations had stopped him, however mild and insignificant they were. _He’s drunk,_ Daehyun remembers thinking, as if such an altered state would prevent Youngjae from taking a compliment. A part of him regrets it, but did Youngjae need to hear such a thing from _Daehyun_ of all people? Someone he’s only known for a few weeks?

Would Youngjae have even remembered?

_Did_ Youngjae even remember the things he said last night? The question only then crosses Daehyun’s mind, and it almost seems to blur the line between fact and fiction. Like the circumstances of Youngjae’s memories could define reality itself – _if_ Youngjae remembers, it would make the things he shared during their conversation that much more _real._

A weird and brittle thing to ponder. Daehyun isn’t quite sure if he even wants the answer.

Daehyun leaves his dishes on a drying rack and wipes his hands off on a nearby rag as he contemplates his next words. His curiosity ultimately wins him over, and Daehyun swallows down a lump in his throat before turning to face Youngjae once more. “You don’t normally drink like that, do you?” Daehyun finds himself asking, but it isn’t really a question so much as it is a statement, and Daehyun watches as Youngjae confirms this with a slow but certain shake of his head. “What happened?”

Something seems to shift in Youngjae’s eyes, as if the question alone had hit a switch within him. His gaze falls to the glass in his hands, a ruminating knot between his brows. “I don’t know what got into me,” he answers after a moment, his fingers tapping on the lip of his cup. “It’s…all just a big blur in my head right now. Don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but the first thing I did when I woke up this morning was vomit into my trashcan, so you can believe me when I say I don’t plan on repeating this any time soon.” 

The image is enough to make Daehyun grimace, but still, he wonders. “So you don’t remember anything?” 

“I remember Jongup calling me an idiot as he dragged me back into his car, but that’s about it,” is Youngjae’s answer, scoffing at the unglamorous recollection. “He always tells me I’m annoying when I’m drunk, so, uh, I’m extra…sorry…”

_So he doesn’t remember._ A part of Daehyun feels relieved, but he’d be ill to deny the depth of his disappointment. Daehyun supposes that this avoids an awkward conversation that might ensue otherwise, but that doesn’t stop the other part of him that wishes Youngjae _did_ remember. With that, Youngjae’s compliments and vivacious laughter seem to fade from reality and into Daehyun’s imagination alone, almost as if they had never happened at all.

Nonetheless, Daehyun reassures him, “You weren’t bad at all. Though I do hope this doesn’t become routine,” he jokingly adds at the end.

“Oh my god, _definitely_ not,” Youngjae tells him, and the gravity in his tone is almost comical. “Nobody likes dealing with a drunk roommate.”

Daehyun chuckles in agreement before taking a quick look at the time, suddenly remembering the plans he had made with Yongguk. As much as Daehyun would love to continue speaking with Youngjae, he decides not to force it any longer. He also figures that Youngjae could use the rest, and another glimpse at Youngjae’s disheveled appearance only furthers this notion. He makes a note to himself to cook something up for Youngjae later, just to help him get over his hangover.

“Well,” Daehyun announces, “I’m going out in a little bit. Are you alright here or do you need anything?”

“Hm? Oh, no, I’m good.” He gives Daehyun a small smile of gratitude. “Have fun.”

Daehyun automatically returns his smile and wishes him well before quickly departing for his own room. He can feel Youngjae’s eyes on him as he leaves, but Daehyun does not risk a glance back.

It isn’t until the door is shut behind him that Daehyun allows himself to breathe again. His mind wanders to his memories, autonomy sacrificed to curiosity alone as he approaches the mirror on the wall.

Slowly, Daehyun lifts a hand and presses it against the glass, fingers resting over the jaw of his reflection in the exact same spot Youngjae’s own hand had touched last night. The glass is cool against his skin, awakening his curiosity as he inspects the little details of his own appearance. His facial features are strong, conveying maturity and confidence that while superficial, still defines his impression.

His eyes then meet his own, so weary and uneasy, and the sight is enough to have him drawing away.

-

Youngjae waits until Daehyun leaves before dropping the act.

He sets his cup down onto the counter, staring at it blankly for a few moments before sinking to the floor, face buried in his hands as an irrepressible blush floods his cheeks.

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. I’m such an idiot!_

_Yes_ , Youngjae drank too much, and _yes,_ he regretted it, but Youngjae _didn’t_ forget. He didn’t forget a single thing, though he _definitely_ wishes he had. At least then he wouldn’t have to feel so embarrassed over the fact that he had drunkenly called Daehyun _pretty_ and asked him to _cuddle him_ last night.

He couldn’t change Daehyun’s memory, Youngjae would simply have to live with the fact that Daehyun now knows that Youngjae finds him attractive – _unfairly_ attractive – along with the fact that Youngjae is an absolute _mess_ both drunk _and_ sober. No, Daehyun’s memory _can’t_ be changed, but Youngjae can at least pretend his _own_ has. Such play only barely soothes his shame, but Youngjae would rather take a flimsy lie over confronting the truth.

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

The embarrassment of it all almost makes Youngjae forget about his headache.

He winces.

_Almost._

-

The sky is clear of any clouds as the sun stands high in the horizon, its sweltering heat moderated only by the sway of the afternoon breeze. Somewhere in a field of grass Daehyun finds himself collapsing beneath the shade of a tree, aching and exhausted with heavy breaths and perspiration sticking to his skin. He barely registers Yongguk bidding farewell to their other friends, Daehyun far too wiped by the heat to do the same. He doesn’t even bother to fully open his eyes until he senses Yongguk plopping down beside him, his best friend downing a bottle of water with a satisfied smirk on his face.

Daehyun glares at him from his spot on the ground, somehow finding enough energy to feel annoyed. “Stop smiling,” Daehyun utters, and Yongguk doesn’t bother to suppress his knowing laugh.

“Why the long face, Daehyun? Didn’t you have fun?”

Daehyun could punch him. “If we played anything other than soccer, you know I’d probably beat your ass.”

Yongguk only shrugs, clearly unbothered by his own biases. Daehyun has known Yongguk since they were in high school, and even back then his best friend had been obsessed with the sport to an absolutely _annoying_ extent _._ To be fair, Yongguk did mellow out by the time they graduated – Daehyun will give him that – but the man still has a knack for inviting his friends out to play soccer just so he can mercilessly crush them into dust.

Daehyun doesn’t know why he still deludes himself with the fantasy that one day he’ll be able to best Yongguk out of nowhere, best him in this sport he’s dedicated his _life_ to whereas Daehyun has only ever played when coerced. Despite such an annoying habit, Daehyun still considers Yongguk to be his closest friend. They’ve been through a lot together, and at this point they know nearly _everything_ about each other.

_Nearly_ everything.

They remain in silence for a few minutes, merely existing in this grassy field as the sounds of bustling students and the wind blowing through the trees fills the space between them. It’s in that atmospheric emptiness and the ever-present heat of the sun that Daehyun begins to feel the weight of his exhaustion, one that exceeds his physical fatigue and leaks into the mental stress he has been enduring all this time.

Only _one_ week into this semester and one week alone has already felt like an _eternity._ “I am _not_ looking forward to the rest of this semester,” Daehyun suddenly confesses. His feelings were already obvious, but the truth is always more distressing once admitted out loud. His chest fills with dread at the mere prospect of another cluster of stressful weeks and the headaches that are sure to accompany them.

And this semester in particular seems to be challenging him in more ways than one.

“You and me both,” Yongguk utters before downing the rest of his water and setting the now emptied bottle aside. “You switched majors, too, didn’t you? I can’t even imagine starting fresh like that.”

Daehyun swallows. _Right._ That, too. Just another thing to add onto his list of anxieties. “Some of my credits transferred over, but it’s still overwhelming. It kind of feels like I have too many things to think about all at once.”

Yongguk looks at him, genuine concern in the frown that takes his expression. “How are things going for you anyways? The last time I called you I remember you talking about how stressed you were over practically _everything.”_

Daehyun inwardly cringes. “I can’t say anything has really changed.” He remembers that phone call well, but he had hoped Yongguk hadn’t. The things he had spilled had erupted from an emotional low, and most of the things he had said were unintentional from the beginning. 

“Between you and Nahyun?” Yongguk asks, and Daehyun furrows his eyebrows, uncertain of what Yongguk had meant by that. “You still haven’t told her you love her back?”

_You love her back._ The casual manner in which Yongguk speaks almost fills Daehyun with envy. Yongguk had always been the more straightforward between the two, and Daehyun wonders if Yongguk has ever had a reason _not_ to be. The man is honest to a fault, and his relationship with his girlfriend is about as picture perfect as it can get. Sometimes Yongguk seems to forget that not everyone flows through life in the same easy manner that he can.

“No,” Daehyun answers, _I don’t love her back,_ but he doesn’t dare say it out loud. “I’m not really ready.”

Yongguk gives him a perplexed stare. “It’s almost been a year, hasn’t it?”

Daehyun shifts uneasily, his discomfort beginning to increase the more he thinks about his relationship with Nahyun. “…Is there a time limit on these sort of things?” The reminder of the length of their relationship feels like a slap to the face. Has Daehyun really been doing this to her for this long? Has he really been _lying_ to Nahyun for nearly a _year?_

“Not really, but I feel like by the time a year passes, you should already have a pretty good idea on how you feel about a person. Especially your own _girlfriend_ ,” Yongguk bluntly states, and the tone of his voice makes it sound so _simple_. Hearing it like that has Daehyun realizing just how _ridiculous_ his predicament must sound to the unknowing ear, but Yongguk’s next words are the ones that really make his stomach drop. “If by now you don’t love her, when will you?”

_When will you?_

It isn’t the right question.

_Will you?_

Daehyun is silent, unable to frame an answer in a manner that doesn’t require an actual explanation. The simple answer Daehyun knows inside is _no,_ he won’t love her no matter how hard he tries, but _how_ could Yongguk understand that? Yongguk _doesn’t_ know. He doesn’t know how complicated his question really is, and he can’t _possibly_ understand the implications of the actual answer.

Daehyun does consider Yongguk to be his closest friend, but even Yongguk doesn’t know about that boy from a summer so long ago – about the truths that lie beneath a lock and key, guarded only by Daehyun’s adamant silence. There are so many things that Yongguk just _doesn’t know._

But Yongguk continues to wait for his response, unrelenting in his scrutiny. The pressure makes it even more difficult to think. When Daehyun finally opens his mouth to speak, he only then realizes just how dry his throat has become.

Luckily, Daehyun is saved by another figure joining them, _Choi Junhong,_ another friend of theirs who had spent most of this time practicing his juggling off in the distance. “I’m so _hungry!”_ Junhong exclaims with a grand exhale, plopping down next to them with their soccer ball placed perfectly in his lap. He gives them both a tempting look, wiggling his eyebrows. “A new burger place opened up downtown if you guys are up for it.”

Yongguk and Daehyun exchange a look, one that tells Daehyun that Yongguk is _not_ going to forget what they had just talked about. It’s almost intimidating to see, and Daehyun gulps, grimacing at the burn it elicits.

When neither of them say anything, Junhong tilts his head to the side in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Yongguk is quick to say with a reassuring smile, turning to Junhong and effectively breaking his imposing stare. Daehyun blinks to himself, attempting to reorient his thoughts as he listens to them speak. “Hyorin and I checked that place out last weekend. Their shakes are pretty good.”

“Oh, we should definitely go then!” Junhong chirps, cheery like he typically is, and Daehyun swears he’s never seen him in a sour mood – he isn’t even sure if Junhong is capable of it.

Daehyun had met Junhong last year, when Junhong was only a shy and awkward first year who had just joined the swim team. It didn’t help that he stuck out like a sore thumb, standing taller than nearly the entire team. Daehyun couldn’t help but sympathize with him, compelled by Junhong’s uncertain demeanor yet undeniable spirit. Daehyun had invited Junhong out to join him and his friends one day just to help the first year settle in, and Junhong immediately attached himself to Daehyun after that, seeking friendship and something close to a mentorship. It got to point where their coach often referred to Junhong as Daehyun’s not-so-little shadow.

Junhong isn’t nearly as dependent nowadays, but he still likes to hang out with Daehyun whenever he can, and Daehyun honestly rather enjoys his company. His optimism is one of his greatest qualities, along with his willingness to experiment and try new things. He was almost like a little brother exploring the world ahead of him.

But the sentiment does twist something rather visceral inside Daehyun’s chest. _Regret. Envy._ Of a relationship he has yet to reconcile. Of an attitude he could only dream of sharing.

“Daehyun?”

Daehyun pulls himself out of his thoughts, suddenly remembering that he does indeed exist as he meets Junhong’s confused stare. “Huh?”

“I asked you if you were coming.”

_Right._ “Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry about that.” Daehyun clears his throat and pushes himself onto his feet, but his vision splotches for a moment, head light as the world seems to spin beneath his feet. He places a hand on his forehead, frowning mildly to himself as he waits for the disorienting feeling to pass.

“Are you alright?” Junhong asks him, genuine concern in his expression, and for a second Daehyun isn’t sure how to answer that question.

_Out of it,_ Daehyun just feels so _out of it_ today. Zoning in and out, the pressure he feels from existence alone, the damn _heat_. He wonders what might be causing this – like he’s restless for something but he isn’t sure _what._

“He’s just hungry,” Yongguk covers for him, thumping Daehyun on the back as he stands beside him. “And mad that he sucks at soccer.”

Yongguk gives him another knowing look, as if he could tell what Daehyun had just been thinking about, and Daehyun shifts his gaze back onto Junhong. “And Yongguk is mad that soccer is the only sport he’s good at.” Daehyun tries to sound as normal as possible, but his throat still feels dry, burning with every swallow. 

Yongguk simpers. “Take your losses with pride, Jung Daehyun. Anyways, let’s go before we all die of starvation. Or heatstroke. Whichever comes first.” Yongguk doesn’t bother to wait as he begins to head off, and Junhong is quick to get back on his feet and follow after him. Daehyun watches them for a minute more, feet planted in the grass as the heat of the sun continues to simmer his already sweat-stained skin. 

Even the air itself seems to spiral all around him.

Daehyun lets out a sigh and follows.

-

Youngjae had managed to alleviate the worst of his headache with a painkiller and a nap. With nothing to do in his room and an itch to be useful for once, Youngjae decided to take whatever energy and motivation he had left to go and study at the campus library.

The bus comes to a stop and Youngjae steps off, his shoulders pulled back in a conscious effort to counteract the weight of his backpack. Other students stroll by, talking amongst each other or simply striding to their own individual destinations, filling the air with an oblivious buzz. The sun is bright, _blindingly_ bright, and Youngjae lifts a hand to shield his eyes from its powerful rays as he begins his walk towards the library.

The campus is far more beautiful during the warmer months with its large and luscious trees and wide range of fresh grasses. Windows glimmer from the sunlight as flowers fill the bushes and landscape with their vibrant colors, the different sights and different sounds of life all around providing Youngjae with a way to forget about his own responsibilities and simply exist in this space shared by so many. He’s always liked walking around campus, and if not for the heat of the sun and the weight on his back, Youngjae might have just wandered around for an hour or so instead.

The afternoon is indeed a hot one, and Youngjae regrets not bringing out a hat to help shield his eyes from the blinding light of the sun. He had opted for a more comfortable outfit today, a simple pink crop top and blue jeans that hugged him around his waist. If only he had chosen something more _breathable_ to wear, the cotton of his shirt doing little to manage the heat that begins to stick to his skin.

It isn’t until he turns the corner that Youngjae halts in his steps, stomach curling at the sight of Jihoon and his friends in a pavilion up ahead, lounging on the benches and laughing at some joke someone had made. _Absolutely not,_ Youngjae thinks as he grits his teeth, a little frustrated with the inconvenience presented ahead. The pavilion intersects with the shortest and most direct route to the library from the bus stop Youngjae had just gotten off at, but of _course_ Youngjae’s trip couldn’t be that simple today.

The heat of the sun begins to add to the heavy weight on his shoulders as his head throbs again, compounded by his irritation. Youngjae keeps his eyes down and quickly slips away before Jihoon or any of his friends have a chance to notice him, and his mind skims through other options as he wipes a bit of sweat from his brow.

A part of Youngjae tells him to just go back to the apartment – go back before he somehow regrets this trip more. This had to be a sign right? _A bad omen?_ But Youngjae is determined to get things done today, unwilling to waste the time he had spent travelling to campus as he changes course to head towards a student center not too far away. It wasn’t Youngjae’s preferred place to study, but it would have to do for now.

As Youngjae walks his stomach begins to lurch again, this time filling with an irrational amount of dread seemingly out of _nowhere. It’s just the heat,_ Youngjae tries to reassure himself, _you’re just being paranoid for no reason._

The sun is oppressive as a bead of sweat trickles down the side of Youngjae’s neck, his breathing beginning to labor as his body tires from carrying his backpack. _Heavy,_ everything just feels _heavy,_ and Youngjae isn’t sure if the pounding in his head is the result of his hangover or the sunlight that seems to reflect directly into his eyes. Feeling overwhelmed by so many different sensations at once, Youngjae forces himself to stop at a crosswalk, craning his neck in an attempt to alleviate some of the aches that litter his upper back.

_It’s just the heat,_ Youngjae tells himself again, but the discomfort within him begins to grow, rippling with every little breath to the point where Youngjae nervously wonders if he’s about to vomit. He frantically scans his surroundings, praying that no one else is around to watch him wretch when his eyes suddenly find the last pair he’d ever want to see in a state like this.

Just across the street stands Youngjae’s now _ex-boyfriend,_ and the dumbstruck look that takes his expression confirms to Youngjae that he has been spotted. It is then that Youngjae notices the vacancy of this location, how no one else is around to witness this unfortunate turn of events, how nothing will provide him with a decent place to hide. Instantly, Youngjae’s heart picks up in his chest, suffocating him with an insurmountable amount of _terror_ as he sardonically laments his decision to ever leave his apartment today.

_It wasn’t the heat._

_“Youngjae!”_

Youngjae quickly spins around, suddenly forgetting his physical fatigue and discomfort as he flees in a flimsy attempt to create as much distance between him and his past as much as possible. His efforts are left in vain when the sound of heavy footsteps rounding in on him increases in volume, and a firm hand on his shoulder is enough to tell Youngjae that this is as far as he’ll be getting.

_Great._ Youngjae closes his eyes, mentally preparing himself for what’s to come as he allows his ex-boyfriend to turn him back around, the two now standing face-to-face in the middle of the sidewalk. When Youngjae opens his eyes, the urge to vomit seems to double, and his fingers clench around the straps of his backpack as he swallows down the bile that piles in his throat.

“Changsun,” Youngjae finally finds the courage to say, but his tone is tight, unwilling to disclose just how flustered he really is. He makes the mistake of matching Changsun’s gaze, breath hitching and head aching with a depth that matches the strain in his heart. 

Youngjae has always found Changsun’s eyes beautiful, a dark and mesmerizing brown that often enhanced the warmth of his smile. He looks at Youngjae now with unbridled affection, an expression reminiscent of the ones he used to wear as he pulled Youngjae close, lacing their fingers together in a pretty promise of forever. It is in that moment that Youngjae comes to the terrible realization that the way he misses Changsun transcends a simple longing for physical contact, becoming instead a deep and desperate craving for the emotional tenderness and intimacy that can only come from a lover.

_Stop it,_ Youngjae immediately reminds himself as his grip on his bag tightens. _Don’t fall for it again._

“How are you?” Changsun asks him in a voice so quiet, so _gentle_ that it reminds Youngjae of all the times he had woken up in Changsun’s arms, mornings spent with sleepy smiles and breathless kisses. He reaches a hand out as if to cup Youngjae’s face, but Youngjae steps backwards, turning his head away in an effort to completely avoid his touch. 

“I was just on my way to study somewhere,” Youngjae coldly answers, crossing his arms over his chest in a manner that is supposed to be defiant, but really it’s a meek attempt to protect himself, to stifle the lonely flutters of his heart. _“Alone.”_

“Already studying?” A low chuckle of amusement. “Man, I miss when we used to study together. Those days were fun, and you always managed to make things sound so much easier for me,” Changsun muses with a sly smile that is close to the ones he would give Youngjae from across their shared dorm room, their books forgotten in a mess on the floor as they threw away their inhibitions and explored their inner temptations beneath the heat of the sheets.

Youngjae forces himself to look away, a frown marring his expression. “Find a tutor.”

Changsun doesn’t miss a beat. “They’re not as good as you.”

Youngjae actually finds it in himself to laugh, a rough one that cuts his throat as it passes. At one point, Youngjae used to cherish every little compliment Changsun would give him. Now, the irony sits as a hollow shell in his chest.

When Youngjae doesn’t say anything more, Changsun takes a step forward, voice tender as he speaks. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for _months_ now, but all my messages and calls…” He finds Youngjae’s hand, carefully taking it in his own in a manner that draws Youngjae’s gaze to his. They look at each other, Changsun attempting to read the answer out of Youngjae’s eyes before he even asks his question. “Youngjae, have you been _ignoring_ me?”

The low murmur of his voice pulls a strange noise from Youngjae’s throat. He swallows, embarrassed with himself as he struggles to keep his composure together. They’re close, _closer_ than Youngjae should rationally allow, but the hints of Changsun’s cologne in the air and the undivided focus in his stare overwhelms Youngjae’s already vulnerable state of mind. Another bead of sweat slips down Youngjae’s skin, and he licks his lips, nearly forgetting the promises he made to himself in the heat of their proximity.

_It’s just the heat._

“I never got any messages,” Youngjae lies. 

“You never got them?” Changsun slowly repeats, and for a second he actually looks _insulted._ “You’re horrible at lying, Youngjae. You always were.”

Youngjae’s temple throbs.

_You always were?_

It throbs again.

_What?_

And again, and the pain is disorienting, but he’s irritated nonetheless. 

_How can you pretend to know me now when all you did back then was pretend that you didn’t?_

Youngjae glares at their hands, his skin burning from Changsun’s touch. His stomach lurches once more, this time in disgust at himself and his own desperation.

“Youngjae,” Changsun begins again when Youngjae doesn’t say anything, “why have you been ignoring me?”

The question is enough to pull the venom from its place inside Youngjae’s heart. Finally, Youngjae fights through his reservations and remembers what brought him here, why he ended things the way he had, why he did everything he possibly could to convince himself that he deserves to be more than someone else’s _dirty little secret._

“What? Not used to being ignored?” Youngjae snaps back before he can stop himself, but the surprised flinch Changsun gives pushes Youngjae to continue, “I never liked it either, but that didn’t stop _you.”_

“You _knew_ I had no choice—”

“No choice?” Youngjae blankly echoes. “Right. Because pretending you didn’t know me while you talked shit about me with your friends was the only choice you _did_ have.” Youngjae forces his hand out of Changsun’s grasp. “Funny how _this_ is probably the longest you’ve ever spent with me out in public without completely freaking out and pushing me away.”

Changsun gapes at him, wide-eyed and _stupid_ , Youngjae’s sharp words sinking into the heat of the afternoon sun.

It burns them both.

“I…”

Youngjae arches an eyebrow. “I?”

“Never mind.” Changsun releases a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

Youngjae’s head throbs against his skull again. “I’m not in the mood,” he utters as he turns away, but Changsun seizes his arm this time, his grip forcing him in place.

“I’m serious, Youngjae,” Changsun tells him, and he sounds _desperate_ , similar to the voice he had used when Youngjae had told him that they couldn’t be together anymore only months ago. “The way things ended between us…it was a _mistake.”_

Youngjae does not take his glare off of Changsun’s hand, on the hold he has on his arm. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you listen to me.”

“We’re _done.”_ Youngjae can feel himself getting angrier as he attempts to pull away. “Leave what’s done, _done.”_

“We’re _not_ done.” Changsun’s grip seems to tighten, Youngjae’s arm beginning to sting from the pressure. “Just give me some time to explain myself. I can fix this—”

Youngjae glares at him. “Fix _what?”_ he spits. “I gave you plenty of chances to explain yourself and fix whatever the hell you wanted. Even _I_ have a limit.” Youngjae shoves his hand against Changsun’s chest in an attempt to push him away, but he flinches when Changsun’s nails dig into his skin.

“Just _listen_ to me,” Changsun begs.

“I don’t want to listen to you!” Youngjae nearly screams, and _it’s all too much._ His arm throbs, his head throbs, his _heart_ throbs – _everything_ within him _aches_ with every word that leaves Changsun’s lips, and the way Changsun clutches his arm is beginning to _terrify_ him. “Just leave me alone!”

_“What the hell?”_

Youngjae’s vision blurs when Changsun suddenly releases him, the smaller boy stumbling backwards from the momentum as he instinctively clutches his aching arm, the skin beneath now a burning red. A shadow seems to block the sun’s cast, and Youngjae only then realizes that _they’re not alone anymore._ His stomach drops and he glances up, lips parting in surprise at the sight before him.

_Daehyun_ stands with his back mostly facing Youngjae, breathless and drenched in sweat, his windswept hair implying that he had _ran_ all the way over here. His profile reveals a glimpse of darkened eyes, his jaw tensed and brows pulled into a glower that Youngjae has never seen on his roommate before. Youngjae blinks, finding Changsun’s own astonished stare from over Daehyun’s shoulder, but Daehyun blocks his way with an arm, a small gesture that serves to separate Youngjae from the other man. Daehyun stands firmly in between them, _unmoving_ , and Youngjae feels his heart stuttering beneath his skin – though this time it races for a completely _different_ reason.

It all clicks into place, and Youngjae suddenly finds himself able to read Daehyun’s expression for the very first time.

_He’s protecting me._

Youngjae nearly forgets how to breathe.

“What were you doing to him?” Daehyun demands, Changsun only giving him a bewildered stare back. Youngjae watches as Changsun stammers some incomprehensible excuse, and Daehyun almost looks frustrated as he turns his attention onto Youngjae. 

“What was he doing to you?” he questions Youngjae next, waiting for a proper answer, but Youngjae, too, finds himself at a loss for words. Instead, Youngjae quietly observes the flustered flush that floods Changsun’s skin, the truth written all over his face when his ex-boyfriend frantically begins to look around.

_He hadn’t expected anyone to intervene,_ Youngjae dryly realizes. _And now_ _he’s afraid that others might be around, too._ It’s a typical sight that Youngjae is far too familiar with, one that used to bring Youngjae so much _heartache._

But looking at it now, Youngjae almost feels pity.

“Nothing,” Youngjae answers, glancing down. “He’s just an idiot.” He doesn’t need to look to know what kind of expression Changsun is making. 

“That didn’t look like _nothing,”_ Daehyun utters, but neither Youngjae nor Changsun choose to explain the matter any further. Daehyun appears as if he wants to ask more, but he stops himself when Changsun suddenly opens his mouth to speak.

“Youngjae,” his ex-boyfriend says in a voice so thin it’s almost a whisper. Youngjae looks back up, finding Changsun’s shaky stare once more. _“Who is this?”_

Youngjae blinks, surprised to find that the question holds a mysterious amount of weight – and Youngjae stands right in the middle of it. He senses the tension as he looks from Changsun to Daehyun, studies it in their gazes as they wait for his answer. Daehyun does not offer him anything but curiosity, but Changsun’s expression is much more _desperate._ Much more _afraid._

Another look at Daehyun, and somehow Youngjae feels his courage increase.

Youngjae holds Changsun’s gaze as he answers, “My new roommate.”

Dark brown eyes seem to shatter. “Your… _roommate?”_

He knows the importance of such an answer, but Youngjae shifts his attention back onto Daehyun, hesitating for just a second before gently tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s leave,” is all Youngjae says.

Daehyun looks back at him, confusion and concern over the exchange that had just occurred evident in his frown. Youngjae only shakes his head, pulling once more, and Daehyun finally relents, following Youngjae as they leave the area together.

Youngjae does not bother to spare Changsun another glance as he walks forward – he doesn’t need to when he already knows what he has done.

His arm still aches from the bite of Changsun’s grip, but Youngjae finds himself far more occupied with the skipping sensation inside his chest. He peeks over at Daehyun, his roommate quiet as he walks beside him, the sight alone causing Youngjae’s heart to thrash with a more pronounced rhythm.

Daehyun looks at him, and Youngjae quickly pulls his gaze away.

His heart continues to skip with every beat, the memory of Daehyun’s words from just yesterday an echo into today.

_I promise you I won’t let it happen again._

Youngjae feels his face warm, and he isn’t sure if it’s just the heat anymore.

-

Daehyun is not one for confrontation.

It’s simply easier to default to minding his own business. Much less complicated. Much more _safe._

That’s why he can’t explain what had driven him into such a sprint, why he had abandoned his friends and his leftovers upon hearing Youngjae’s scream, why Daehyun can’t quite describe what went through his mind when he caught sight of Youngjae in such a compromising position with a man Daehyun has never seen before.

It was unusual of Daehyun to act against his own nature, yet here he is, by Youngjae’s side in the surreal aftermath of it all. Youngjae suddenly stops walking and Daehyun does the same, the two standing in place in complete silence. He watches as Youngjae lowers his head, expression veiled from Daehyun’s sight, _thinking._

Daehyun is left to his own thoughts, and naturally his mind fixates on the odd look in that stranger’s eyes.

_Who was he?_

The way he had reacted to Youngjae calling Daehyun his _new_ roommate only confused Daehyun more. Why did he seem to have such a problem with it? And why did Youngjae…say it like _that?_ Like Youngjae knew his answer would hurt _whoever-the-hell-that-was?_

Before Daehyun can question Youngjae himself, Youngjae suddenly turns to face him, effectively catching Daehyun’s full attention. He seems hesitant for a second before he finally meets Daehyun’s eyes.

“Thanks,” Youngjae says, and after a second he gives Daehyun a small smile.

“Don’t mention it,” Daehyun tells him. Youngjae looks as if he wants to say more, but he bites his lip instead, conflict evident in the way he plays with his thumbs. Daehyun does not miss the subtle way Youngjae’s body seems to shake. “Did he hurt you?”

Youngjae gapes at him, surprise melting with a waver as his gaze drops to the ground. Hints of pink color his cheeks as his bangs fall over his lashes, and his answer comes in a simple nod.

The silence of his response is enough to pull an ache in Daehyun’s heart, unable to comprehend how anyone could be so careless with someone as unassuming as Youngjae. _He’s used to it, too,_ Daehyun sadly realizes, softening as he reaches up to brush Youngjae’s hair back at the same time Youngjae does. The motion does not go unnoticed by Daehyun nor Youngjae, both parties freezing as their eyes simultaneously meet in mutual surprise.

Daehyun immediately retracts his hand, clearing his throat as he instead wipes at the side of his own neck, cringing to himself when he smears through his own sweat. Youngjae looks just as flustered as he does, his own hands grasping at the straps of his backpack as he looks at anything but Daehyun.

The tension that occupies the space between them is awkward, and the sun’s heat does nothing to help with the flush that floods Daehyun’s skin. He opens his mouth in an attempt to come up with _some_ sort of response to help save them from this moment, but the sound of his name being shouted catches Daehyun’s attention instead.

Behind him are Yongguk and Junhong, his two friends approaching him with the leftovers they had taken from the diner they had visited. Daehyun had almost forgotten about them, as well as the way he had shoved his milkshake and fries into Yongguk’s arms before sprinting towards the source of Youngjae’s shout from earlier.

Daehyun gives them both a sheepish smile and a wave. He does not notice Youngjae’s silence.

“Daehyun, you crazy bastard!” Yongguk chides with no real malice, the milkshake Daehyun had forced into his hands still in his grasp. “Where the hell did you run off to? I would have finished this thing myself if we hadn’t found you.”

“Thanks for holding back,” Daehyun says in slight amusement as he takes his drink back, sipping at its straw and releasing a sigh at its sweet and icy flavor, a relief from the heat of the sun. His fries are noticeably missing, but he easily finds them in Junhong’s hands, the younger boy looking as if he’s ready to say something stupid when he suddenly notices Youngjae standing behind Daehyun. 

Whatever quip Junhong was ready to unleash dies in his throat, expression going blank as he stands stiffly in place. Yongguk appears to notice Youngjae at the same time, brows pulled together in confusion before something seems to register in his mind.

“Oh, shit, _you’re_ Youngjae,” Yongguk exclaims with no subtlety at all, and Daehyun hides his cringe with another sip of his milkshake, watching over his straw as Youngjae shifts uncomfortably beside him. 

“Um, hi,” Youngjae mumbles, and he lifts a small hand up in greeting before looking away again.

Daehyun blinks, only then remembering his manners. “Uh, right. Youngjae, this is Yongguk and Junhong,” Daehyun explains, gesturing to each with a lazy hand. “They’re good friends of mine.”

“It’s, um, nice to meet you,” Yongguk awkwardly says, and Youngjae only offers a nod back. A very noticeable silence then fills the space between them, the three turning to Junhong expectantly, waiting for the boy to pipe up his own greeting. When he doesn’t, the awkwardness of the atmosphere only seems to tenfold.

Daehyun furrows his brows, watching as Junhong uncharacteristically avoids their stares.

Youngjae breaks the silence with a slight cough. “Uh, I should go,” he utters to Daehyun, and Daehyun looks back at him in surprise.

“What?”

Youngjae’s smile is apologetic as he begins to back away. “I still need to study. But…I’ll see you later, Daehyun,” is all Youngjae leaves them with, and then he walks off before Daehyun can even begin to protest. Dumbfounded by the abruptness of his departure, Daehyun can do nothing but watch as Youngjae disappears down the street.

When he’s a good distance away, Yongguk lets out a low whistle. “ _That_ was pretty damn awkward.” He turns to Daehyun, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. “You weren’t kidding during that phone call when you said he looked gay.”

Daehyun gives Yongguk a flabbergasted stare. “Dude, you can’t just say that—”

“Sorry. _Homosexual.”_

Daehyun swears he’s never wanted to strangle someone harder, but he knows Yongguk doesn’t mean any harm by it. He’s just an idiot. Daehyun lets out a shallow huff, attempting to pull his thoughts back into order when he suddenly meets Junhong’s eyes. Junhong quickly looks away, shoving some leftover fries into his mouth as if Daehyun wouldn’t notice what just happened.

Daehyun frowns. Junhong _definitely_ isn’t acting like himself. “Are you alright, Junhong?”

Junhong does not say anything at first, his expression unreadable before he puts on a thin smile. Also unreadable. “Yeah, it’s just hot out here. We should really get going.” And just like Youngjae, Junhong does not wait for a response, simply walking off without another word or glance in their direction. Fries and all.

Daehyun has never felt more lost.

“Okay,” Yongguk murmurs, and the two of them exchange a strange look. “What the hell just happened?”

Daehyun scratches his head, just as puzzled as Yongguk is as he looks towards the direction Youngjae had disappeared in, and then to Junhong’s own departing figure up ahead. A sigh of resignation leaves his lips, far too exhausted and sick of the heat to even _try_ to begin to understand the strange tension that seemed to permeate between Youngjae and Junhong.

_Do they know each other?_

“I have no clue,” is all Daehyun utters, and it’s the only thing he knows for sure.

-

The evening has always been Youngjae’s favorite time of day. It’s the sunset he loves, and it doesn’t matter if he’s sitting in a cramped car or relaxing in a field of grass, just the mere sight of the sky as it changes is enough to take his breath away.

Youngjae remembers the window by his bed in his old dorm room, how easily the blinds would lift with a tug of a string, how beautiful the world had looked from his place on the sixth floor. From that window he could see it all – the skyline and all its wonders, watching from his pillows as the heavens shifted along a spectrum of lilac and fire, the bustle of the outdoors muted through a single pane of glass. Such a quiet hour, so sleepy and still, as if life itself was marveling at the pools of color that spill across the horizon. 

Evenings like those were spent in his boyfriend’s arms, basking in each other’s company as the sun set between the trees and the shadows flooded the night with little stars. Their window was small, their bed was small, everything about their room had been small and cramped, but it was all enough for Youngjae – _enough_ because he was in love with the colors of the sky and the touch of the man he shared that little space with.

But those are only memories now, memories that shake his sensitive soul with every little breath, the evening breeze cooling his skin and shattering the image of that narrow bed and that small pane of glass. The sky shifts as the sun sets again, and Youngjae sets his eyes on the present, his apartment building only meters ahead. He stops at its entrance and takes a moment to count the colors up above, loneliness lifting his lips into a bittersweet smile as the first star of the night shimmers in silence.

Youngjae enters and makes his way to the elevator and then to his apartment, the hour striking 8 PM as he unlocks the door. A savory aroma swirls in the air, tingling his senses, and Youngjae catches sight of Daehyun in the kitchen, immersed within the hum of the stove and steam of a pot. Youngjae finds himself mesmerized by the sight, the _smell,_ everything about the atmosphere, but he’s startled back into reality as soon as the door shuts behind him.

Daehyun glances back in surprise, but he melts into a kind smile, moving to wash his hands at the sink.

Youngjae quickly looks away, face heating up as he busies himself with removing his shoes. He feels weird, _really weird,_ and he vaguely hears Daehyun say something but doesn’t quite process it, too preoccupied with feeling _weird._ Daehyun calls out his name again, and Youngjae straightens back up, a _“Huh?”_ so elegantly escaping him.

The kitchen provides the only light in their apartment, bathing the area in a low and lovely haze. Daehyun stands in the middle of it all, a bowl in his hands and that same kind smile touching his eyes. “I made soup,” he repeats himself, and his features are like amber, warm with an ethereal glow.

_Pretty,_ Youngjae absently thinks before noticing the expectant look in Daehyun’s eyes. He only then realizes that the bowl Daehyun holds out is for him. 

“O-Oh…” Youngjae shakes his head to himself, feeling a bit sheepish as he quickly retrieves the bowl from Daehyun’s hands. “Thank you.”

Moments later Youngjae finds himself at the dining table with Daehyun, the two sipping their soups in a comfortable silence. Well, _mostly_ comfortable silence, but Youngjae’s heart pounds against his chest, nearly deafening as he peers over at Daehyun in curiosity. The way they sit across from each other now feels oddly similar to the dinners he had spent with his ex in their little dorm room, legs crossed as they shared a bag of take-out and talked about everything and nothing at all.

_Weird._ Youngjae feels _weird_ again. Everything about this little dinner feels strangely _intimate_ to him. Daehyun had _waited_ for him, even prepared their _food_ for them, and the way the dim light illuminates the little space between them had an almost _hypnotic_ quality to it.

It all feels too… _perfect._

_He must want something._

Youngjae lets out a shaky exhale, placing his spoon down as he contemplates the situation. When he realizes what Daehyun might be after, Youngjae decides to get it over with.

“He was my boyfriend,” Youngjae says, and Daehyun looks up from his soup in bewilderment. “My _ex-_ boyfriend now. Not that Changsun wants anyone to know that we were ever involved.”

Daehyun looks speechless, but Youngjae could only assume from the atmosphere that Daehyun had prepared this all in an effort to ask Youngjae the very same question Changsun had.

_Who was he?_

“I-I’m sorry…what?” Daehyun stammers.

Youngjae lets out a soft sigh. He supposes he had no purpose in hiding it from Daehyun. “Changsun. That was him, earlier today. I broke up with him months ago, and he’s been trying to contact me ever since I left him.”

Daehyun still seems too surprised by Youngjae’s bluntness to fully respond. “Uh. Wow,” he says. “Isn’t – uh – isn’t that considered sexual harassment?”

Youngjae’s eyes widen before a little laugh escapes him, genuine amusement lighting up his otherwise bittersweet smile. “I guess it is? My friends keep telling me to block him already, but…I could never bring myself to. And I can’t really…say why…” Was it the permanence? The finality of such a decision?

Or was it the terrifying truth that Youngjae himself couldn’t move on, either? Youngjae hates thinking about it. That’s why he tries to avoid it.

Daehyun clears his throat, discomfort evident in his expression. “Where is this coming from?”

Youngjae frowns. “What do you mean?”

_“This.”_ Daehyun gestures vaguely in Youngjae’s direction. “You brought this up so suddenly…It just caught me off guard.” 

Youngjae gives Daehyun a look of confusion, but when Daehyun merely gives him a perplexed stare back, realization finally pieces itself together.

_Shit._

Youngjae’s cheeks instantly flood with color as he clasps a hand over his mouth, unable to suppress the embarrassment that creeps along his skin with his mistake. _I did it again,_ Youngjae berates himself, _I just assumed things out of him again._ Not only that, but he’s revealed a little bit _too_ much about his situation with his ex-boyfriend, and even Youngjae knows there’s no turning back.

“I-I don’t know, I thought that maybe because you saw all that earlier, you were probably wondering who that guy was—” Youngjae bites his lip, stopping himself for a second to try and gauge Daehyun’s reaction, but his roommate only continues to stare at him. His words just seem to tumble right out of him, “The…the soup was so good and you prepared everything all nicely so I thought that maybe you were trying to figure out how to ask me about earlier and…and…um…” _Idiot._ Youngjae closes his eyes. _You stupid idiot._

“Oh.” Daehyun breathes out an awkward chuckle. “I just…thought you might like soup after a rough day…with your hangover…and all that…” He clears his throat, and Youngjae gives him a miserable look. “I wasn’t trying to set you up or anything.”

Youngjae honestly wouldn’t mind if the earth opened up beneath him and swallowed him whole right then and there. He actually welcomed the idea. “T-Thanks,” is all Youngjae can bring himself to say, and of course his voice so kindly decides to crack at the same time.

There’s a pause in the atmosphere, and Youngjae quickly occupies himself with his soup, spooning through it in an effort to drown his racing heart. He’s ashamed of himself, ashamed for continuing to make assumptions about Daehyun and his motivations when Daehyun has been nothing but _kind._ Awkward, too, but _kind_ nonetheless. He cooked an entire _soup_ for him, with no other intention but to help him out, and here Youngjae was, thinking that Daehyun wanted in on his stupid _drama._

Daehyun suddenly clears his throat, breaking their silence. “If you don’t mind me asking…” The uncertainty of his tone draws Youngjae’s attention as he carefully meets Daehyun’s stare. The air fills with caution, and Daehyun looks as if he’s still pondering his thoughts, and after another moment, he finally asks, “Why did you break up with him?”

Youngjae’s grip on his spoon tightens ever so slightly, and he glances down at his hand, its slight waver betraying his nerves. “It’s…a long story,” Youngjae murmurs as he slowly places his spoon back onto the table. His gaze falls onto the soup in front of him, and his defenses seem to melt with the heat of its steam. “I roomed with him for two years before I met you. To everyone else, that’s all we were – _roommates.”_ Youngjae swallows. “But I got tired of it.”

He looks up again, watching as Daehyun begins to piece the hints together. Realization seems to dawn in his features as his lips part in astonishment. “Is that why he seemed so… _bothered_ when you told him I was your roommate?”

The look in Changsun’s eyes had certainly told Youngjae just how much that revelation had affected him, and he supposes Daehyun saw it, too. Youngjae had done what he had meant to do, but he does feel strange admitting it to Daehyun now.

“I knew what it would sound like when I said it, but whatever he thinks we really are doesn’t matter to me now,” Youngjae says. He could only hope that his words had hurt Changsun enough to leave him alone.

“So he doesn’t want people to know?” Daehyun asks after a moment, and Youngjae gives him a look of question. “That…that he’s gay and that you two were…together,” he clarifies with a slight cough, and even Youngjae cringes with the description.

“No, he didn’t,” Youngjae answers with a soft sigh. “He had his reasons, and even though it frustrated me I went along with it because I loved him.” Youngjae hated the way the words tasted on his tongue. “But being someone’s secret isn’t as fun as it sounds.”

Daehyun doesn’t say anything, but the silence he leaves him with compels Youngjae to continue forward, the feelings he had held to himself for so long spilling into the night. “We used to get into so many fights…” Youngjae begins, and his voice feels raw in his throat, frustrated with Changsun, with _himself,_ with everything that had led them to this, “He used to get so _defensive_ every time I wanted to go out with him somewhere, swearing to me that I was pushing him to come out, _forcing_ him to do things he didn’t want to do. I…I didn’t _think_ I was, but he made me believe it, and I was so scared he would leave me that I just _stopped asking_. I told myself that I didn’t need anything or anyone else as long as I had him, even if we could only be together behind closed doors, even if it _hurt_ whenever he pretended he didn’t really know me everywhere else.”

Youngjae remembers the way Changsun would immediately pull his hand out of Youngjae’s whenever he thought someone might be looking. Remembers the way he would wordlessly pass Youngjae in the lecture hall, sitting with his friends even if the seat by Youngjae’s side remained completely empty. They weren’t meant to be anything to each other outside of the privacy of their dorm, even when Changsun insisted that to him, he meant the world. 

“People knew we were roommates,” Youngjae quietly continues, the memories alone bringing him back to a time of constant heartache, “and I guess I should have expected that people would be curious about us. They’d ask him about me, wanting to know more about that _freaky_ roommate of his, and they’d… _make fun of me_ …and _he would join them.”_

Youngjae clenches his hands, his nails digging into his palms as he remembers the first time he had heard Changsun’s words, the _disgusting_ things he would call Youngjae behind his back just to get a laugh out of his friends. “He called me a _tranny_ once. Told all his friends that I liked to dress up like a girl and force him to call me _pretty_.” Youngjae feels his eyes begin to water, but he lets out a scoff instead, blinking his tears away as he reminds himself that he deserves better than this, that Changsun doesn’t deserve any more of his tears. “He painted me as if all I’d ever done was come onto him – some _straight_ guy – like _any_ typical gay man would.”

Youngjae wipes a hand across his eyes, but he can’t quite meet Daehyun’s gaze, too afraid of falling apart as his emotions begin to stretch his heart. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, forcing himself to smile despite the pain he feels inside. “That was probably more than you ever wanted to hear. I should – I – _Thank you_ …um…for the soup.” Youngjae quickly gets up, unable to endure the burn of his memories any longer as he rushes for his room.

“Youngjae, wait!” He hears the clatter of their silverware and the scraping of a chair behind him, the commotion of it all causing Youngjae to glance back in surprise. He watches as Daehyun stumbles to his feet, his roommate now standing awkwardly by the table with something close to desperation in his eyes.

Whatever he wants to say seems important enough that Youngjae actually stops to listen.

“Do you…uh...” Daehyun’s face reddens as Youngjae waits. “Do you…want a hug?”

_…A hug?_

“What?” Youngjae’s voice comes out as a whisper.

“I…I asked if you wanted a hug,” Daehyun says again, and he looks just as embarrassed as he did before, yet he still stands there. _Offering._ A _hug_ of all things, and Youngjae doesn’t know why, but the offer alone nearly pulls the tears from his eyes. So unexpected, so _sweet,_ sweet enough that it draws a little laugh from Youngjae’s lips, fragile and caught in the weight of his emotions but a laugh all the same. He must look and sound like an absolute _mess_ right now, but Youngjae finds that he doesn’t really care as he finds Daehyun’s eyes, losing himself in his empathy.

“Yes,” Youngjae breathlessly whispers. “I think I do want a hug.”

And without another word Daehyun crosses the apartment and pulls him into his arms, Youngjae’s head automatically falling onto Daehyun’s shoulder. Youngjae’s heart instantly begins to race, his pulses pounding as sparks of fire rush through his veins. Daehyun holds him so tenderly, like he’s afraid Youngjae might collapse at any moment, his arms strong and snug around his waist, keeping him in place, keeping him _safe._

Youngjae tries to remember the last time someone had held him like this, but the heat gets to his head and Youngjae no longer has the energy to think. He carefully lifts his hands, fingers clutching onto the back of Daehyun’s shirt as Youngjae finally returns his embrace.

_I trust you._

Youngjae’s eyes slowly close as he buries his face into Daehyun’s skin, lost in the warmth of this moment and the irreplaceable comfort of Daehyun’s arms.

-

Daehyun’s throat feels dry.

He watches in silence as Youngjae crawls towards him, the bed dipping beneath them with every shift of his weight. Daehyun forces himself to swallow, the thick burn of the action doing little to distract him from the way his heart hammers in his chest. Youngjae places himself in his lap, fitting so comfortably, so _perfectly_ against Daehyun, his legs gently parting to straddle Daehyun’s hips and lock him in place.

Daehyun tries to say something, but he loses his train of thought when Youngjae’s fingers trace along the length of jaw, his touch purposely slow and tantalizing. Their gazes never leave each other as a pretty little smile graces Youngjae’s lips.

“Don’t be shy,” Youngjae whispers, a coy glimmer in his eyes, and his voice alone is enough to pull Daehyun into his spell. Daehyun’s hands move on their own, finding Youngjae’s hips and slowly sliding upwards, slipping beneath his shirt and tracing little circles over the heated skin. Youngjae releases a shaky breath, his own hands finding Daehyun’s shoulders as he inches closer, little exhales of pleasure ghosting over Daehyun’s lips.

Every shift of Youngjae’s hips sets Daehyun’s body on fire, his eyes clouding with desire as Youngjae rubs against him in need. Daehyun bites back a moan, watching a bead of sweat trail down Youngjae’s neck through a haze of pleasure. He leans forward and presses his lips against the gloss of his skin, drinking in the pretty little sounds that Youngjae exhales. Daehyun slides his hands over Youngjae’s slender thighs, his skin bare and warm to his touch, flesh soft when he squeezes. Daehyun feels Youngjae’s legs tighten against him in response, and Youngjae lifts his head to meet his eyes.

_“Kiss me.”_

Daehyun does not hesitate, drawing Youngjae closer with a rough pull on his legs, their lips melding together in a mess of tongues and breaths. Youngjae tastes like melted sugar, _sticky and sweet,_ a flavor that Daehyun is sure he’s already addicted to. His heart beats wildly in his chest, what’s left of Daehyun’s self-control lost to the rush of his hunger as he pushes Youngjae onto his back, the pretty boy falling into the sheets in a breathless and shameless mess.

Their lips meet again, rougher this time, _hotter_ as what little space exists between them disappears with every push and pull of their bodies. Daehyun fists the sheets just above Youngjae’s head, commanding the depth of their kiss as the heat consumes him with a craving for more, _more_ of that taste of sugar, _more_ of the boy that writhes underneath him.

Daehyun opens his eyes, flinching as his vision is overwhelmed by a flood of sunlight. It’s blinding enough that he raises an arm just to shield himself from its rays, head feeling incredibly hazy, lost in some imaginary sway.

The blanket shifts around him as he moves, _weightless_ , and Daehyun lies alone in complete and utter silence.

_Another dream,_ he realizes.

The sunlight heats his skin, but it does little to quell the skipping of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters are getting progressively longer help


End file.
